


The First and Last Time

by AariMarlow



Series: At the Center of the Universe [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Bonding, Claiming, Complicated Relationships, Consent Issues, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Multi, Multiple Partners, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Original Slash, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Power Imbalance, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Slavery, Slow Build, Submission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 113,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AariMarlow/pseuds/AariMarlow
Summary: Jasper always wanted everything. In his world, the pursuit of power is an essential, basic fact of life.He thought he understood his place in this complicated society. He was lucky. Loved and protected by someone who belonged to one of the most powerful people in their world.But then a stranger approached him. And everything changed.
Series: At the Center of the Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983835
Comments: 80
Kudos: 57





	1. Beautiful Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Like all of my stories, this takes place in a fantasy version of modern day Earth. This centers around a group of people genetically different from the rest of the human race, with their own isolated society and culture. 
> 
> The ethics and morality in this culture are very different from our real standards.

“I looked into your eyes  
And my world came tumbling down  
You're the devil in disguise  
That's why I'm singing this song.

To know you is to love you.

You're everywhere I go  
and everybody knows  
To love you is to be part of you  
I paid for you with my tears  
And swallowed all my pride.”

– Madonna, “Beautiful Stranger”

_Jasper_

Jasper woke up to a familiar sound. He rolled over, wrapping himself up in discarded, tangled sheets. And lazily opened his eyes.

On the other side of the large mattress, two of his best friends were having a _friendly_ start to the day.

Lydia McGill, who’d he known for almost a decade was sprawled back against the mattress, legs parted and splayed open. Her creamy skin, covered in long lines of scars over her chest and arms, looked like one of those luminous paper lanterns in the darkened room, all ethereal and symbolic. Between her legs, his other friend, Martin Al Shamid – _Marty_ , as they called him – was eating her out.

They made such a pretty sight. Marty’s skin was soft and smooth, the shade of melted chocolate. His short, curly black hair bobbed in-between Lydia’s legs, sounds of sucking and slickness amplified in the quiet space. One hand was wrapped over her hipbone, stroking her side and rubbing over her ass. The other roving arm snuck up her torso, dexterous fingers pinching and squeezing a nipple.

Jasper realized he’d unwrapped himself from the sheets, and was stroking his morning wood, bringing himself to full hardness. He wondered how long these two had been going at it, not even bothering to wait for him to wake up – so typical.

Well, as far as Jasper was concerned, the party didn’t really start until he showed up, so …

In a sleek glide, he slithered across the bed. Lydia’s eyes opened at the new noise, expression first confusion, then happy surprise.

Jasper propped himself on an elbow by her head, and claimed her mouth with his own. Her lips parted eagerly, tongue rushing to meet his. Jasper thought he tasted a familiar reside of Marty. Maybe she’s sucked him off earlier, or at least licked him down at bit. Either scenario worked for Jasper’s formulating plans. He deepened the kiss, overpowering her tongue with his, looking to taste everything, and drown any previous flavors with his own.

He pulled back when oxygen became scarce. Lydia panted wildly under him.

Jasper glanced down her toned stomach.

Marty, the lazy fuck, had stopped trying to devour her pussy, and was resting his head against her inner thigh. Mouth all smile, face smeared with Lydia’s juices, eyes sparkling from watching the heated kiss.

“This wasn’t an invitation to stop,” Jasper said, laughing a little. He reached out and pushed Marty’s head to back to Lydia’s glistening clit. “Get back to it.”

“Whatever you say, Jay,” he murmured. Then proceeded with some exaggerated, lewd lick into Lydia’s folds, the wet sound loud and slutty.

Jasper watched Marty work for a few moments, before Lydia’s arms had reached up around his head, pulling him into another deep kiss.

He let himself drift in the warm, welcoming lips and hot, coiled tongues. He slapped Marty’s roving hands off Lydia’s breasts, and claimed them for himself, kneading over the plump mounds and pinching the nipples.

Abruptly, he broke off from her mouth and latched onto one of the stiff nubs, his teeth sinking into the pink flesh.

Lydia gasped, and her body shuddered with the telltale spasms, riding through a sweet orgasm. Jasper and Marty both worked her through it, Jasper listening to Marty’s devilish administrations, as he alternated sucking on Lydia’s nipples. Eventually she went slack under them, and Jasper watched her reach down and pull at Marty’s short hair.

“Stop – stop,” she breathed, “’ Iss – too – stop.”

Jasper took that as his invitation.

He pulled off Lydia, and yanked Marty up, his hands immediately cradling his friend’s head and slamming their mouths their mouths together.

Marty tasted like Lydia, his face all sweet and sticky, combined with his own masculine, salty taste.

Jasper wanted it all. Both of their flavors. Both of which belonged to him, for him, whenever he wanted.

He positioned Marty and he so they were both on their knees, flush against each other.

Marty’s cock was hot and heavy against his own. Jasper slide a hand between them, gripping the hardening, slippery length.

“Did Lyd suck you off earlier?” Jasper asked, breaking their kiss and talking into Marty’s ear.

Marty gave a warbled “Yes”, and Jasper began picking up his pace, mercilessly twisting at his friend’s cock, bring him back to full mast.

“You’re such a little slut,” Jasper continued, “ Both of you are. And so fucking rude too. Can’t even wait for me to wake up, before going down on each other, in _my_ bed. Very inconsiderate.”

Jasper increased the pressure on Marty’s cock, causing the other man to gasp and squirm against him. But Jasper wrapped his other arm tight around him, keeping him close and where he wanted him.

He wasn’t much bigger than Marty, only a few inches taller, and he maybe had fifteen pounds on him at most. But he knew Marty wasn’t really trying to get away – he loved the restraint too much, loved it rough, especially with Jasper.

To prove it, Jasper bite the lobe of Marty’s ear, twisting the sensitive flesh. Marty moaned, arching his back in Jasper’s hold. Jasper pulled him back by his cock, firmly rubbing the flesh over and over, his thumb playing with the sweet little slit that started to leak.

“You’re both such rude guests,” Jasper continued, in-between sucking on Marty’s neck, “I don’t invite you over here to play with each other while I’m asleep. You’re here _for me_. To play _with me_.”

Jasper felt Marty’s smile, as he kept kissing up his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Marty countered, hardly apologetic, “I didn’t realize we were your entertainment.”

“Damn right you are,” Jasper said, with a smile on his own that was anything but sweet.

He moved quickly then. He bent Marty over, going behind him, keeping one hand firmly on his cock. He pushed Marty over Lydia, still sprawled in front of them. To avoid falling on top of her, Marty had to brace himself to stay propped on his hands, both of which settled on either side of her arms.

And while Marty was preoccupied with his balance, Jasper moved his friend’s cock up against Lydia’s warm, slick pussy. With nimble fingers, he guided Marty’s leaking cockhead inside of her. And then he moved back, letting the nature of having something hot and welcoming around Marty’s dick take it’s inevitable course.

Marty’s hips snapped forward, driving deep into Lydia, who let out that pretty cry from the first proper penetration.

Jasper watched Marty still, watching his friend watch Lydia. After a few moments, she looked up at Marty, running her hands along the bands of lean muscle on Marty’s arms. The long, winding scars were prominent on her sinewy limbs.

She reached up around Marty’s neck, drawing her closer to him, and drawing him deeper into her.

“Come on,” she whispered, kissing his lips, “Come on.”

Marty started to thrust in earnest.

Jasper realized he’d become a bit distracted by the scene in front of him, and went back to his original task at hand.

He found lube in the nightstand, and began coating his own cock.

He then moved behind Marty, eyeing the man’s ass appreciatively. Jasper actually preferred to bottom himself, but for Marty, he always made the exception.

He stroked on Marty’s cheeks, using his other hand to grab his hip, slowing his thrusts into Lydia. He dragged his thumb into Marty’s hole, teasing the rim, still slightly stretched and a bit puffy from last night’s activities (which had involved a very indulgent rim job on this cute ass). He eased the digit in a bit, and then added a couple other fingers, scissoring him open more.

And that was it for prep.

Without other warning, Jasper withdrew his hand. Stopped all of Marty’s motion into Lydia, and tunneled firmly into the welcoming hole.

The entry must have a burned a bit, but Marty had been thoroughly eaten out enough last night to still be stretched.

Jasper savored that lovely tightness for a few moments, giving his friend a little time to adjust.

But then he was ready, and started setting a brutal pace.

He grabbed both of Marty’s hips, fingertips sure to leave bruises, and slammed into him, while also setting the pace for Marty’s thrusts into Lydia.

Lydia looked up them both, as Marty was driven into her. She caught Jasper’s eye and winked, and started raising her own hips to meet Marty’s thrusts.

The sounds of flesh slapping flesh filled the quiet, dark room in an obscene intimate way.

They carried on in their tandem, finding that great rhythm. Pinned between Jasper and Lydia, Marty started to crest, despite having come earlier.

Jasper angled his thrusts mercilessly onto Marty’s prostrate, confident he could send him over the edge first.

And he was right. He felt Marty buck erratically under him, pumping his come into Lydia. And this did the trick for Lyd, who fell back against the pillows, the shudders overtaking her again.

And watching this – both so fucking pretty when debauched – Jasper began to pummel into Marty, and soon fell into a sweet release of his own.

They all collapsed on each other after that. 

Content and sated silence for a few minutes, but then the alarm started to ring.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The three of them took a shower together as usual. It wasn’t a huge space, but they managed fine, used to it, and happy to wash each other.

It was a nice amenity to have the en-suite bathroom. Jasper’s original bedroom in this house hadn’t, and they’d all had to use the communal family bath then. However, two of the bedrooms in the house did have their own – his parents and what had been has oldest brother’s room. And when Guillaume had moved out a couple years ago, to live with his wife, Jasper had gotten to move into this space (much to the annoyance of his other four siblings, who also still lived in the house). But Jasper tended to get what he wanted.

After the shower, the trio finished getting ready and then made their way to the dining room.

It was the standard morning chaos in the Montesquieu residence.

The majority of the family and their guests were already up. The massive wooden table in here could hold twenty, and it was almost always full or over capacity.

Today was no exception. Jasper and his friends walked into the noisy, chattering space, brimming with energy for 8am on a Wednesday.

It was the expected crowd. All of his siblings were up, except his youngest sister Collette. Even Guillaume was here this morning, with his wife Nadia. Then his other older siblings – Carina, Maxine and Nolan, all of whom had also had their lovers and partners over, with Nolan having a couple of his friends from university too. Then was Jasper’s aunt and uncle, and two of his cousins. And from the open archway to the kitchen, he could hear his parents talking and general clamor and smells of them, for reasons unknown, cooking more food – even though the table was already fully decked with a spread. Bread, cold cuts, hard boiled eggs, bananas, berries. Standard smorgasbord. 

Everyone was grabbing for various items, and stuffing their plates, laughing and chatting away. The space was cramped and cozy, with a low- hanging ceiling and cracks in the plaster on the walls.

It was home. It was family. 

His sister Carina shot him a shit-eater grin, as Jasper took one the free chairs near the head of the table. Marty sat down beside him, and Lydia settled onto his lap.

“Well, look who’s finally up,” Carina smirked, “Our three musketeers. What time did you all sneak in last night? Had enough of that club life on a Tuesday?”

“Carina, cut it out, ” his mother said, rushing into the dinning with a steaming bowl of congee, “Careful, this is hot. Nolan – eat some of this. Marty, Lyd, how are you both doing?”

She rounded over to the pair, and kissed the top of their heads. Then she moved onto Jasper, kissing the side of his face, and wiping some imagined smudge off his cheek.

“Mama, Ma, please, stop,” he said, as she started trying to smooth down his wavy brown hair. He’d mussed up it on purpose earlier – honestly.

“I’ll do what I want,” she tsked, “Now – what were you all up to last night? Your father and I were up until at least one, and we didn’t hear you come home.”

“My Gods, I’m twenty-one. Do you really need to know everything we’re doing?”

“No, we don’t need to, but we want to. And so we ask. And if you don’t cooperate, we’ll just interrogate your friends. Lyd – where were you all last night?”

She flashed a dazzling, sweet smile at Lydia. Jasper sighed. He loved his mother. He loved his fucking ridiculous, large, loud family, but everyone was constantly in each other’s business.

And Lydia was particularly susceptible to the Montesquieus’ prying. Friends with Jasper since they were twelve, with a spectacularly shitty home life with her own family, Lydia had nearly always been at Montesquieus.

Because of this, she sometimes felt a sense of strong loyalty to Jasper’s parents, which somehow could trump her loyalty to Jasper.

So she told them the truth, annoyingly. “We were out at Wayfarer. Met up with some of Jay’s university friends. One of them has a room there – we stayed until like 2.”

Wayfarer was a club in downtown Crimimiss. Modern and trendy, with multiple levels for dancing and drinking, but mostly rooms for sex play and orgies. Jasper’s friend Clyde had got a room there last year, and had really gone into it with a strong BDSM theme. He liked to host people whenever he had the opportunity, and sometimes that was on a random Tuesday.

Regardless, it was definitely something his parents didn’t need to know about.

He was glaring at Lyd, but she smiled sheepishly and shrugged, leaning into Marty’s chest.

His mother just looked at him, and shook her head with a small smile.

Everyone always said he and his mother looked alike, and it was true. Celeste Montesquieu was widely known in their neighborhood of the Rangowan district as the resilient matriarch of her large clan. At one hundred and fifty four years old, she looked like she was in her early forties by Mortagaia standards. Dewy, pink-toned skin, luscious, dark brown wavy hair, and striking round blue eyes. Jasper had all the same features. And a lot of her personality.

She loved people, loved to flirt with everyone and loved her family and anyone she perceived as hers with a venerable ferocity. When she was angry, she was feral, and when she was challenged, she was brutal. She was one of the strongest people he had ever known, and though Jasper never said it, her approval meant a lot to him.

She started petting her son’s hair, trying to tame the waves again.

“Seems like an interesting way to the spend the evening, before your big presentation tonight. You going to be okay?” She asked, humming thoughtfully.

Jasper sighed. This is what he’d been avoiding.

“Yes,” he muttered, “I’m going to be fine. I’ve reviewed everything with Carson… Not that any of you care though, as _none_ of you will be there.”

An obnoxious “Awww” went round the table from Jasper’s sulky tone, but he didn’t care if he was being a brat.

“I’m so sorry,” his second-oldest brother Maxine said, with mocking sympathy, “that my promotion ceremony is conflicting with your packed schedule.”

Jasper faked a big, sunny smile.

“Yeah, well, I’m just sad I’m going to miss you tripping over your big feet on that stage tonight.”

Maxine raised an eyebrow.

“I bet you throw up before you even start talking.”

“I’m not. It’s going to –”

“Just like in primary school, when you had that geography—”

“Shut up! You fucking—”

“And then you’re going to start crying –“

“Fucking little fucker.”

“Enough, you two!” their mother snapped, “Maxy, you’re becoming a corporal in the National Defense. Act like it! And Jay, stop sulking like a child. We all would love to come to your presentation, but we’ve had Maxy’s ceremony planned for months. Now, apologize to each other.”

The brothers eyed one another from across the table, both ashamed at their childish argument, but also not. Also both annoyed and not annoyed at each other, but fully aware their mother wouldn’t let it go until they did as asked.

“Sorry,” they both muttered.

And Celeste shook her head, rolling her eyes at her grown children, both in their twenties, arguing like school kids.

Speaking of school kids… at this point, Jasper’s youngest sister Collette strutted into the dining room, flanked by her own two best friends. Collette was seventeen and, in Jasper’s opinion, still in the peak of the insane, hormonal nightmare that was being a Mytarri teenager.

Her current primary enjoyment was getting the attention of others. And, as the youngest Montesquieu, she was beyond spoiled.

Today, she was decked in some ridiculous version of the Crimion Prep school uniform, except not. It was the school blazer yes… but she was wearing nothing underneath it, seeming to have taped the lapels over her breasts. Below she wore a black mini-skirt, the length seeming beyond impractical if she planned to sit at all today.

She had two of her friends in tow – both pretty, blonde waif-like girls, with vacuous eyes and tinny, breathy laughs, who’d followed Collette around for most of their teenage years. While they were dressed in more conservative versions of their uniforms, both had white faux-leather collars wrapped around their throats, covered in small rhinestones. Collette was really such a tacky little tyrant.

“Good morning,” she announced, “Can someone please give us a ride a to school today? I can’t walk in these.”

She nodded down at her feet, crammed into physics-defying stilettos.

But Celeste Montesquieu wasn’t about to let her run out the house.

“How about you all sit down and have some breakfast,” their mother said, moving towards them, a panther ready to pounce and parent the hell of her favorite primadonna child.

“We’re not hungry.”

“Well, you need to eat something. You and your girls look like emaciated drug addicts. ”

Collette gasped, feigned indignation.

“Mama, you’re so rude.”

“Hmmm…”

Celeste had stopped right in front of Celeste. Then, with some uncanny speed, she yanked up one of Collette’s arms and brought her daughter’s hand up towards the light.

“What the fuck is this, then?” their mother asked, voice gone down to quiet tenor of controlled rage.

Collette’s face visibly paled.

“Ma – It’s not – I’m just fixing the base –”

“Victor!” Celeste called out, “Victor come here and look at your daughter trying to go to school.”

Victor Montesquieu, their father, walked out of the kitchen over to the commotion, a dirty apron over some pajamas, and a rag over his shoulders. His long hair, mostly black with just a few streaks of grey, was tied back into a bun behind his head. His deep-set blue eyes looked like almost like amma brands, deep, swirling and thoughtful.

“What’s going on, now?” he murmured, in his lush, bass voice, gravelly deep and calming. He wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist, hugging from behind. He saw his daughter’s hand, captured and exposed in Celeste’s grip.

A deep sigh then, drenched in disappointment.

“Oh, Letti,” he said, gingerly reaching out and tracing the tips of his daughter’s fingers.

It was an interesting contrast. That morning, Victor Montesquieu, like the rest of their family, was showcasing fingernails painted in a camouflage design, done in painstakingly swirling detail. All of the nails were filed, by their standards, in a short-style called _“weisgarren”_ , where the nails were scored into triangular points, the sharpness of the tips carefully glossed by resin.

They’d all done this style during their weekly en masse family dinner. To celebrate Maxine’s promotion in the National Defense Coalition from private to corporal (the ceremony for which, the entire family, minus Jasper, was attending tonight).

This wasn’t an unusual thing for the Montesquieus. They often coordinated their nail paintings for family celebrations or other displays of solidarity. It was _anthalva_. And when there wasn’t a specific event or reason, the family members all painted their nails in whatever style suited their mood at that moment.

What was startling about Collette’s hands wasn’t that her nails were no longer in the same design as the rest of the family. What was startling was that her nails were barely painted. From his seat at the table, Jasper could see her nails were only coated in a light clear shimmer.

That was unacceptable.

The Montesquieus were from Rangowan. They were _Rangowan_. In a nation as small and homogenous as Crimimiss, the little districts, especially the _old_ districts, had their traditions that spanned the centuries.

And the people of Rangowan painted their nails. Always. Men and women. Children and elderly. Hands and feet. If you had nails, they were painted and cared for in an obsessive, ritualistic manner.

To have just a clear coat on her nails – Jasper imagined it would be like someone in a Puritan society deciding to walk outside naked.

It was not done. It was not _societally acceptable_. 

Collette was babbling now, crying a little.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I cracked a few of the tips last night, and it was ruined, so I tried to fix and made it worst, and I was going to sort it out this morning, but I didn’t want you to notice, and I’m sorry…”

Jasper looked down at his own hands, the camo design glistening in the morning sunlight.

His oldest brother Guillaume had walked up to their parents and sister (always having to be one who “fixed” things) and was saying how he’d get her nails sorted this morning. People were already clearing a spot on the dining table for Collette, a couple racing off to get the appropriate implements and chemicals and colors.

So… as expected… within three minutes of arrival, Collette had uprooted a day where Maxine was getting a promotion, and Jasper was giving a presentation at his university, and she’d turned it into something about her.

Jasper caught his sister’s eye as she was ushered into a seat, and shook his head. She just smiled and gave a coy shrug.

Time to get the fuck out of the madhouse.

“Let’s go,” Jasper murmured to Marty and Lydia, “We’re going to be late.”

The three unearthed themselves from the table, and made to leave.

But Celeste Montesquieu, of course, needed the last word.

“Jay, wait a second,” she grabbed his arm before he made it out the room.

“Are you sure,” she continued, in a low tone, “That you’re going to be okay today? I know you haven’t gotten a lot of sleep over the past few days… I know you’re nervous, but I want to make sure you feel prepared.”

Jasper exhaled, and looked down at his mother – this slender, short woman, who seemed to run on persistence.

“I’m prepared,” Jasper said, “And I’m excited. This is going to be great exposure for me. And it will all be great for my Vendetti application for the summer. Please don’t worry.”

“Okay,” his mother conceded, “Text me as soon as you finish tonight.”

\------------------------------------------------------------

Jasper parted ways with Lyd and Marty at the local overground train station, giving them both chaste kisses on their cheeks. As he went up the steps to the station, he looked back on them holding hands as they walked down the small, winding streets of the Rangowan district.

He felt a little pinch in his chest but ignored it, heading up to the tracks.

Lyd and Marty and Jasper had gone to the same secondary school together. Crimion Prep, the best school in the country (all three on scholarships – none of them from the wealthy families that could regularly afford that private school tuition). Jasper had then gotten a full scholarship to the Crimimiss Institute of Technology, where he was studying software engineering. Lyd and Marty went to the Crimion Public University, which was the large national university, with very limited tuition costs.

Now all in their second years, Jasper had made some casual friends at CIT, but it certainly wasn’t the same as having his _best_ friends at his school. And to make matters worse, his other best friend, Fitch Delford, was currently off in New York City, partaking in the trial of the Sterling Xchielkla’s university project.

Jasper couldn’t wait until the three of them (himself, Lyd and Marty) would be able to able to join Fitch in America for this crazy _“Ridgeview University”_. But that wasn’t for a year – assuming everything actually went well with Sterling’s scheme, which Jasper was still skeptical of succeeding.

So, for the time being, he was kind of alone at CIT, without his usual steadfast support system. It was a good growing experience, but also a bit lonely. Especially on occasions like this where tonight Jasper had a big presentation, and no one from his family could attend, and neither could any of his closest friends. Fitch was off-world, and Lyd and Marty had promised to go wedding shopping with Marty’s older sister.

So tonight, he would present an overview of his work to his university’s top researchers and academics in the Computer Science department…And he would be by himself.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The seminar had a good turnout, surprisingly. Encryption was a hot topic, given the state of the world, but that didn’t necessarily mean anyone wanted to hear some engineering geeks talk about it for an hour.

However, all the big wigs for the department were there, and along with what seemed like the majority of graduate students in the Comp Sci program. Jasper recognized his friend Clyde, the one with the BDSM suite, in the crowd. He smiled at him and waved.

Trying not to let the fact that he was the youngest person in the room, and also the one presenting, psych him out.

His academic advisor, Titus Carson, was babbling something to him, probably some encouraging, inspirational nonsense. Carson had set this whole evening up, apparently “blown away” by the findings Jasper had put together for his first year project.

Not surprising though.

Jasper tried not to be conceded, but he knew he was smart.

He didn’t need Carson’s or the university’s validation of that. What he needed was that fellowship with Vendetti for this summer. It was the most highly sought-after fellowship for undergraduate students at CIT each year.

Vendetti was a private Crimion company that did most of the cybersecurity contract work for the country. All the real juicy classified and secret projects. All that real, government-sanctioned spy work. Rumors abounded about the organization. The top illicit programmers and hackers who Jasper looked up to all worked there, or had done contract work there. They rarely hired anyone, and getting the fellowship at the company was really the only way to be considered for a job.

As Jasper was going off-world to New York next year…this summer would his only opportunity for it.

So, Carson had set up this dog and pony show. To impress the university and some Vendetti programmers with his initiative and innovation.

Carson had finished speaking to him now, and Jasper just found himself nodding.

“Alright,” his advisor said, clapping him on the shoulder, “Time to start. Don’t fuck this up.”

“Great pep talk, Car.”

And Jasper walked into the front of the room. They were in one of the smaller lecture halls. Probably like 50 people here in total. The front row was lined with the older academics, all suited and booted up in their ritzy, tailored jackets and form-fitting dresses.

Jasper froze for a few moments, blinking in the bright spotlight him. He forced himself to swallow.

He wasn’t going to throw up. He would not. Not after Maxy’s immature little comments.

Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.

Yes, he had been fucking around a lot lately, but that was just to stave off the nerves, and to not dwell on this. But what he’d said to his mother was true. He was prepared. He was rehearsed. He, quite frankly, knew his shit.

He forced himself to breathe. He could do this.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Jasper Montesquieu.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The presentation had gone great. There had been a few off-the-cuff questions here and there, but mostly Jasper had gone through his research clearly and methodically. Made a few well-timed jokes.

The crowd had been attentive, engaged, inquisitive. What more could he want?

Now was the aftermath, the press tour. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

Carson had arranged a little reception afterwards. Drinks and hors d'oeuvres. It was all a rouse for him to waltz Jasper around, like Jasper was some pop singer, and Carson was his agent.

But Jasper could tolerate the schmooze. He generally liked talking engineering tech shop. So he dealt with the cooed “Can’t believe you’re only in your second year” a couple dozen times, and answered any additional questions they had about his research. Kept his cool, kept on his charming smile, only nursed the one glass of Champagne.

The evening was starting to wind down, and at some point Carson got pulled aside by someone about something.

For a few seconds, Jasper was alone, kind of adrift along the perimeter of the diminishing crowd. He felt someone approach him to his side. A tall presence.

“You did a great job tonight,” came a rich, baritone voice, “Difficult to keep a jaded crowd like this interested.”

Jasper looked up, his standard smile plastered on his face, when he felt something wild and unexpected spasm in his chest.

His smile slipped as he took in the new man.

And though he’d never in his life admit it to anyone….his first coherent thought when he saw this individual was – this man is gorgeous.

He was tall, and lanky, with board shoulders and a trim torso. He had wild dirty blonde hair, this hot, scruffy five ‘o’clock shadow, deep, piercing brown eyes, and plump, peach-colored lips. He looked sun-kissed and raw and real, and so very different from the stuffy academics or the casual hipster nonsense of the coders and programmers.

Jasper realized he needed to respond.

“Thank you,” he said after a few moments too long, “I hadn’t done a presentation like this before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. But I thought it went well.”

“It did,” the man agreed, smiling, a warm bright expression that lit up his amber eyes, “I’m Quinn Sabian.”

“Jasper Montesquieu.”

He accepted the man’s kisses on both cheeks, the traditional Mytarri way of introduction.

But his mind kept thinking to that name. It sounded familiar, but also not… Almost like it the university wasn’t the right context for it. Odd…

“Are you on the faculty here?” Jasper asked.

And Quinn laughed. It sounded genuine and surprised.

“No” he said, shaking his head, “I barely finished secondary school. I dropped out and had to get my diploma externally.”

“Oh,” Jasper said, feeling a little off-put, “So you’re an engineer then? Who do you work for?”

Quinn just smiled and shook his head.

“Not at all. I know some programming basics at best. Just an interloper, really.”

“Okay,” Jasper said. He looked down at Quinn’s hand, who was holding his own flute of Champagne, “So you mean, you’ve just come for the free drinks and food.”

Quinn raised his glass and nodded.

“Now he’s onto something,” he said, “It’s always about the free drinks and food. But the real question is, what about you?”

“What about me? What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you, a young, intelligent, interesting person giving a talk to a bunch of wizened professors and snarky programmers on a fine Wednesday evening. No offense to the professors or programmers, but I’m sure you have a lot of better things to do. Did your friend set you up to this?”

He gestured to some point in the distant, and Jasper glanced to find Carson staring at him with this bizarre expression on his face. He seemed to be almost be trying to get his attention, but Jasper was much more interested in the man next to him. He turned back to Quinn and answered him.

“Well, he’s not my friend as much as my academic advisor, and he thought this was would be a good move for my career.”

“Your career,” Quinn repeated, like this was a new word he was learning, “Your career… And what exactly would this career be? Tech performance art?”

Jasper chuckled lightly, though he felt himself tensing. What kind of condescending bullshit was that? Tech performance art? Jasper didn’t take well to being patronized, even by very attractive men.

“I don’t think that’s much of your business actually,” Jasper said, “Considering you’ve just come here for a free glass of Champagne.”

Quinn’s smile deepened. Something in his eyes seemed to spark.

“You seem a bit judgmental.

“And you seem arrogant. Thanks for stopping by Quinn Sabian. Always nice to meet a fan.”

And Jasper started to turn away.

“Wait,” Quinn said, sidestepping and blocking his exit, “I’m really didn’t mean to offend you. My mouth is always way ahead of my brain, because my brain’s never going anywhere.”

Jasper laughed. It wasn’t really an apology, but it was funny.

“What are you doing after this?” Quinn continued, “How about we get another drink, since I’ve crashed your party here.”

Jasper turned to face the man fully, feeling a warmth run through him. Always sweet when someone he thought was attractive found him attractive back. But Jasper had rules. And more importantly Jasper had standards. And he never accepted casual propositions from strangers unless it was on his terms.

And there was no way anything was going to happen with some random who propositioned him after his research presentation.

“No thanks,” Jasper said with a smile, “As you said, I have better things to do with my evening than hang out with programmers or condescending freeloaders.”

Quinn laughed, actually taking this as an opportunity to step closer to him.

“So I’m arrogant and _condescending_ , after just a few minutes of talking with me. I’ve learned so much tonight.”

“Great. Now, if you’ll excuse me – ”

“Sure, go and enjoy yourself. But why don’t you take my card. If ever need an arrogant, condescending freeloader.”

What a... Jasper looked at the innocuous white business card in the man’s outreached hand, and shook his head.

His heart had started beating wildly. Something new and strange and persistent in his brain was telling him he needed to get out of there immediately.

“Thanks but no thanks,” he said, and he rapidly turned and started weaving his way through the remaining guests, towards the room’s exit.

“Goodnight Jasper Montesquieu,” he heard Quinn call out.

He didn’t look back.

He exited the room, before anyone else could say another word to him.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later, he was on the train, departing the university station. It was around 8pm at the point. The train was fairly deserted. CIT was kind of away from the main districts of Crimimiss, off in a suburban enclave, with a whole dedicated campus. Not many students were leaving the school at this time of night.

He kept replaying the events of the evening over in his head, mystified at how it had ended… and pretty embarrassed at how he had ended it. The guy had been a little condescending, a little presumptive, but Jasper had been quite rude and abrupt. It wasn’t usually like him to be that abrasive to strangers, even to strangers hitting on him. A lot of people hit on him. It was usually a nice thing, a little flirt and game. And if he wasn’t interested, he turned them down in genuinely polite way. Not by being a brat.

He glanced down at his phone again.

Carson had called him five times, and left a couple different voicemails. Weird, why? But for whatever reason, Jasper wasn’t ready to listen to the messages yet.

He went to sit in an empty seat on the train, and he felt something off. He reached back into his pocket and – sure enough, there was a new business card.

Arrogant, condescending and now _sneaky_.

Jasper turned it over and read it. It was an extremely minimal card. It literally just listed his name, Quinn Sabian, and a phone number and pretty generic seeming email address.

No occupation, no company name or logo.

Jasper stared at it for a few minutes.

Quinn Sabian.

Why did that name sound familiar?

He had definitely heard it before… But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember in what context.

And just out of an annoyed curiosity, Jasper typed that name into the search browser on his phone.

The top result almost made his stomach drop out of him.

FUCK.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He stared at the phone screen, just blinking rapidly for a few minutes.

How in the fuck could he have been so fucking stupid?

Because now it all clicked where he’d heard that name.

Now he fucking remembered, after it was well too late.

Because the first result in the internet search, was a very, very _specific_ result.

It was the online list of the Crimion Registry of Metiah. All public records in an open government database.

Yes, Jasper now remembered where he’d heard the name “Quinn Sabian” before.

He’d heard it from a man named Miguel de los Santos. A man who also happened to be _metiah_ – the class of the most dangerous people in Crimimiss. The most dangerous, possessive, and extreme people in Crimimiss who ran the government, the economy… their world.

Jasper was struggling to breathe.

Quinn Sabian was _metiah_. And he had sought Jasper out for some reason.

Jasper was fucked.


	2. That Green Light

“I’m waiting for it, that green light, I want it.”

– Lorde, “Green Light”

_Jasper_

The next day Jasper attacked Carson.

He had been up most of the night, unable to sleep – so grateful his family was out celebrating Maxy’s promotion and his friends were otherwise occupied.

He scoured through the internet, trying to piece together a narrative, a rationale for this completely unexpected invasion.

But _infuriatingly_ there was nothing. At least nothing he could find in his panicked state.

Quinn Sabian was metiah…and also apparently a ghost. A few random mentions here and there, but nothing cohesive…

Nothing that in any universe involved Jasper Montesquieu.

He was pissed.

He barged into Carson’s office, on a bright and sunny morning, finding the man already immersed behind his massive monitor. He jumped when the door banged open.

“—The fuck,” Jasper growled, rounding up to his advisor’s desk, and looming over the seated man, “The fuck was that?! Why would you possibly invite—”

“Jay,” Carson said, swallowing, and seeming to fortify himself after the initial shock of his student’s entry, “I had no idea he was coming. I didn’t invite him. I DIDN’T.”

Jasper grabbed the side of Carson’s swivel chair, and pulled the man closer to him, getting his face right up in Carson’s space. He absolutely wasn’t going to be played like this.

“In the year that you’ve known me,” Jasper hissed, “have I ever struck you as an idiot? You expect me to believe some random metiah was just walking around CIT and just happened to show up at my seminar?”

Carson put his hand up on Jasper’s chest, pushing him back a bit. Jasper could see man’s rising anger, a harsh line developing on his brow. But the question was whether this anger was real or a formulated distraction.

All in all, Jasper liked Carson well enough. Carson was smart, sure. But Jasper knew he was smarter. That didn’t really matter though. What was important was that Carson was ambitious and savvy with all the politicking at the university… He’d been clever enough to recognize a protégé in Jasper, but he made no illusions that his motivations were mainly to help himself.

Jasper liked that. And thought his manner been simple and friendly.

The idea that he could have drastically misjudged the situation, and been oblivious to some _real_ _threat_ with Carson was nauseating. Jasper knew better than that. Jasper was better than that.

But… in his heart of heart, his intuition told him that Carson didn’t actually have anything to do with the metiah showing up last night. But he had to do the due diligence. Make sure he wasn’t letting familiarity cloud his judgement.

And Carson probably knew this, and was probably getting pissed that Jasper had ramped up his anger this much.

But fuck him – he would just have to deal with it.

“Jasper,” Carson said, hand still on his student’s chest, eyes narrowing, “Listen to me. I don’t know why Quinn Sabian was there last night. I just noticed him in the audience while you were presenting, and then he showed up at the reception. Beyond that, I know nothing. I’ve never spoken to him, and I have no idea what he’s about.”

Jasper swatted Carson’s hand off of him. But stepped a back a bit. Took a breath.

Everything in Carson’s body language resonated as sincere. It was very difficult to outright lie in these circumstances. Mytarri knew what to look for in each other, and earnest, clear falsehoods took _a lot of skill_ to pass as authentic.

And Carson wasn’t that skilled.

Still…

“Alright,” Jasper said at length, “I believe you didn’t invite him. But you obviously know him. Know _of_ him. How? Why? I had no idea who he was until I looked him up.”

The harshness in Carson’s eyes dissipated a bit. He leaned back in his chair.

“I “know of him” only in the vaguest sense. He does actually come around campus sometimes. I think he’s friends with Lyle – I think they have some dealings, and I think he donates some amount to this school. I only know this from very vague gossip. He was here once when there was a university board meeting or something, and someone pointed him out to me. That was like… three years ago. I haven’t seen him around here since then. Until yesterday.”

Carson paused. Some bit of steel still in his brown eyes.

“You realize,” he continued, “I’m telling you this as a _friend_ , right? I was trying to _help_ you yesterday, but you were being an idiot.”

Jasper sighed. Broke Carson’s gaze. He refused to feel guilty about his reaction. All the same, he didn’t want bad blood between them.

“So it’s Lyle then. Well, maybe Lyle. Maybe not. I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

Lyle Venter was the president of the Crimion Institute of Technology. Lyle and Jasper had never spoken. Never interacted. And as far as Jasper was concerned, Lyle probably only vaguely knew who he was. CIT had almost ten thousand students, many of whom were much more _interesting_ than Jasper in a political sense. Lots of children of suqua. Even a couple children of metiah. Yes, Jasper was sure Lyle Venter was a very busy man.

Carson was looking up from his seat. The annoyance was slipping again, and Jasper caught something new brewing in the man’s eyes. Something that was definitely unwanted.

“What are you going to do?” Carson asked, “Are you going to talk to Lyle? Are you going to talk to—”

“You know my situation,” Jasper said, interrupting that train of thought, “And that’s none of your concern. You say you haven’t been involved, so let’s keep it that way. Don’t you think, Car?”

Carson looked at him for a few moments. And though there was that glint in his dilated pupils – that inevitable, scheming curiosity that was both the blessing and the curse of their people – Carson eventually nodded, his face softening.

Yes, Titus Carson was an ambitious man, but he was self-aware, pragmatic and had a healthy level of self-preservation. He recognized when he was out of his depth.

And suddenly, _annoyingly_ , Jasper did feel a little guilty about accusing the man of orchestrating this. The idea of Carson playing with metiah was kind of absurd. This was a man who’s main goal in life was to get tenure and get funding for some cozy computer science research in the safe, sheltered realm of academia. 

That was all incredibly apparent with what he said next.

“You be careful, Jasper Montesquieu. There’s a lot fucked up people in this world. And you definitely don’t have to play with them. I hope for your sake, whatever that was last night, ends up being nothing.”

Jasper sighed. He clapped Carson’s shoulder, and turned to leave.

“Thanks Car. Sorry to scream at you. I’ll see you later.”

And he left the office.

He wished he could find any comfort in Carson’s words, but there wasn’t any.

He didn’t claim to be the most cunning person in Crimimiss, but he’d learned a few things in a his couple decades of existence. What had happened last night wasn’t nothing. Unfortunately, Jasper knew it was the start of something.

What kind of something…. that was… well, that remained to be seen.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, he saw Quinn Sabian again. He’d been expecting the metiah, but honestly thought – _hoped_ – it wouldn’t be less than 48 hours after their initial meeting.

It was Friday afternoon. Most of the students at CIT had slithered off campus, more than ready to start the weekend. But Jasper’s routine was to stick around. The school was quiet then – he could concentrate and catch up on work, without any curious, probing questions about his projects.

As this was his usual routine, Jasper didn’t really think anything of the fact that he was the only one in Comp Sci Lab 4 that afternoon. He had his usual nook in the far corner set up – three monitors going, windows displaying lines of coding and editing software.

Jasper had been there for a couple hours, deep in these programming languages. He didn’t even notice when the man walked into the room.

“Jasper Montesquieu.”

Electric shocking words.

He bolted up in panic.

Right in front of him. Small, friendly smile on his face. Like he had just run into a casual acquaintance, and was stopping for a pleasant, little chat.

Jasper struggled to compose himself for a few seconds, hands running haphazardly over his jeans, awkwardly trying to straighten parts of his sweater.

“Quinn Sabian,” he eventually managed, feeling the intensity of his pulse in the back of his throat.

But he forced himself to eye the metiah, trying to calm down the rising panic by taking stock of the scene before him. No time to jump to implications, no time to fall apart from pressure. Just breathe and take in the scene around him.

Yes, Quinn looked calm, collected … casual. And gorgeous. With his dirty blonde hair more mussed than before, some stubble darkening his tanned face, body so tall and – Wait no, Jasper, wasn’t going to – oh, fuck this.

“Funny to see you here again,” Jasper said, “Is lurking around universities some hobby of yours?”

Quinn’s smile just deepened. He was dressed more like burnout than their country’s ruling class. Decked in a plain black hoodie, and worn, loose jeans sprouting the kind of holes that were from use rather than design. He ran a hand through his scraggy hair, eyes sparkling and alert and clear.

“Seems like you’ve looked me up then,” Quinn said, “Though clearly too not thoroughly.”

_What the fuck was that supposed to mean?_

“What are you working on?” Quinn continued, walking closer to the monitors, moving into Jasper’s space, “This looks like another encryption… kind of familiar –“

“It’s none of your business,” Jasper snapped, panic rising, despite his best efforts. He quickly shut down all of his programs, but his eyes kept darting up to the open door of the lab. He was not going to do this in the open, where anyone could walk in, and hear.

Quinn raised his hands up in mock surrender.

“I wasn’t trying to pry. Just curious. A bad habit of mine. Where are you—?”

“Follow me,” Jasper said, rising out of his chair.

A really dumb idea had taken hold of his head, the kind that was so stupid, it might actually work. At least that’s what he’d tell himself later.

Quinn wasn’t moving, watching his progress with a slightly quirked brow.

“What—?”

“Come on already,” Jasper hissed, and rather astonishingly, he had grabbed the sleeve of Quinn’s hoodie, and led him back further into the computer lab, away from the open door and hallway. Hindsight would question Jasper’s sanity in physically trying to manhandle the metiah. But rather astonishingly as well, Quinn didn’t resist or protest the movement.

Jasper led them to the closet at the back of the lab, that hosted all of the computer servers. He opened the door, and beckoned him inside. The metiah followed with a look of pure amusement.

“Leading me back to the closet,” Quinn mused, observing the dimly light room crowded with server towers and humming with electricity, “Is this where you’re going to have your way with me?”

Jasper sighed, well aware this was an idiotic idea, but without a better alternative. He needed no witnesses to this.

He shut the door behind them and turned to face the metiah. Forced himself to take a couple deep breaths, quell over the panic. If this was the end of him, so to speak, so be it. But he’d say what needed to be said.

“Listen to me, Quinn Sabian,” Jasper said, stepping closer to the metiah.

Quinn was tall. Probably like six and a half foot. And while Jasper wasn’t slight person, just a smidge under six feet himself, he felt very much aware of their size difference in this cramped, shadowy space. But he kept breathing, and forced himself to look up into those gleaming brown eyes that seemed alight with some anticipative intelligence.

“I am not interested, “ Jasper continued, struggling to keep his voice as clear and firm as he could, “Whatever game is between you and Miguel, that is your own concern. I’m not playing willingly into this. Fitch Delford is one of my _real_ friends, and I’m not doing anything that would _harm_ him.”

Gauntlet thrown. 

That was as definitive as Jasper could be. If Quinn was here to try to play him, it would have to be by _force_. From Jasper’s perspective, Fitch and his wellbeing were his clear priorities. Any excitement or curiosity or _interest_ that he might have felt by this strange metiah approaching him were a far, far second to that.

Jasper certainly indulged in his vices, and like any healthy Mytarri, he loved his games. But like any true Mytarri, his loyalty meant everything. And for those he truly loved there was no limit to what would be done.

Quinn regarded him in silence for a few moments. The amusement had faded off his face, but some pleased smile remained. And when he finally spoke his voice was saturated with a deep thoughtfulness.

“So brave in your loyalties. But the question is why.”

And he moved, stepping closer to Jasper. The suddenness of the motion caused the other man to step backwards, and he felt a server tower against his shoulders. Quinn put his hands up on the server wall, on either side of Jasper’s head, boxing him into his space. It was a starkly aggressive, predatory stance, and Jasper felt his heartrate absolutely sprint at that point.

But this was partially his doing. He had wanted to have this conversation in a private, dark closet away from prying eyes and ears.

“I appreciate your clarity of position though,” Quinn said, his head bending down towards Jasper, peach-colored, satin-looking lips so close to him, “So I think it’s only polite that I be as clear in my position as well.”

He paused, ramping up the anticipation. And then he smiled, and it was sunny and sarcastic and bright and cruel. Pretty white teeth.

“I don’t,” he said, enunciating each word, “give a fuck about DLS and his designs. And definitely not about his schemes of off-world domination. But I think it’s very enlightening that you do, and that it’s the first place you go when approached.”

Jasper had actually never heard anyone ever refer to Miguel de los Santos as “DLS”. While pet names were common and loved by Mytarri, they had many different connotations and meanings. Everyone who Miguel truly loved called him _Miga_. But Fitch said people – other _metiah_ – who had an issue with him, tended to call him DLS. 

“Well, I don’t give a fuck why you find that enlightening,” Jasper said, “Maybe you should have done have some more thorough research _on me_.”

Quinn laughed a little, his breath warm against Jasper’s face. So close. So fucking close.

“Are you always so bratty?” the metiah asked, “I have a feeling you’re not. Is it some kind of nervous defense mechanism? Well, there’s no need – I can tell you’re sweet.”

He moved a hand to touch Jasper’s cheek, and Jasper swatted it away immediately. Hating and loving the blush he could feel rising in his face.

“Stop that. I’m not playing with you.”

There was a pause. But then obediently, _surprisingly_ , Quinn let his hand fall away.

“Then what are you still doing here, in this closet?” the metiah asked, voice back to that careful, thoughtful tone.

Jasper didn’t need any more encouragement. He turned away from the metiah, free now that one of his arms wasn’t blocking him in, and hurried towards the door. When his hand was on the handle, Quinn’s voice made him stop.

“I’ve never spoken with him.”

And despite himself, despite his best intentions, and all his love and loyalty, Jasper didn’t immediately flee the scene. He turned and looked back at Quinn, was who speaking calmly and hanging out by the servers.

“What?” Jasper heard himself asking, not really sure what warranted the further engagement. This was dangerous and dumb and would lead to nothing good. But here he was… _curious_ and _lingering_.

“I’ve never spoken with Miguel,” Quinn clarified, “And to be honest, though you won’t believe me, until two days ago, I’d never really given him any serious thought. I’ve always found him a bit … _attention-seeking_. For my tastes anyways.”

He was still smiling, and somehow it seemed almost sheepish, almost apologetic now.

“Well,” Jasper said, “Good for you. But sometimes attention isn’t really sought, is it? It’s just an acknowledgement of _interesting_ action.”

He paused. Bewildered he’d just said that. And before these strange impulses could compel him to keep engaging this man, he forced himself to turn the doorknob. And made his exit.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jasper didn’t tell anyone about his encounter ( _encounter **s**_ ) with Quinn Sabian. While the first incident had obviously tons of witnesses, it actually seemed like most people hadn’t been aware of it or paying attention. Kind of seemed to good to be true, but all the same, no one besides Carson had made any mention of the metiah to Jasper. And no traces of whispers or rumors. Carson, of course, was wisely staying mum about the whole thing to others – an unspoken part of his and Jasper’s reconciliation.

And this was all just grand to Jasper.

While it certainly wasn’t his favorite thing to omit such a significant development to his friends and family… well, suffice to say, Jasper had experience keeping secrets. Especially secrets that involved or affected his friend Fitch.

So, Jasper made some decision to not say anything to Fitch about this ( _and consequentially to Miguel about this_ ) until Fitch was back in Crimimiss. That wouldn’t be long – Fitch would be back in just a few weeks, for some American break for the “Thanksgiving” holiday…and Jasper would tell him everything about it then.

Until then though… well, it just wouldn’t be right to tell anyone else first. So, he said nothing to no one.

But without any confidants to talk with, Jasper just had to contend with his own mind to contemplate what exactly had happened. Unfortunately all the answers he came to were… less than satisfactory.

Quinn claimed his motivation for approaching Jasper had nothing to do with Miguel de los Santos.

But Jasper found that incredibly hard to believe. He couldn’t think of anything else about him that another metiah would find _interesting_. Interesting enough to approach a Mytarri that was already _involved_ with another metiah. Especially with a metiah like Miguel de los Santos.

Though… yes… Jasper’s involvement _– relationship_ – with Miguel was unorthodox. Well… not maybe completely. It was really Fitch Delford that made it unorthodox.

Jasper and Fitch had met at Crimion Prep, the best school money could buy in Crimimiss. Jasper had been there on a scholarship, and Fitch was there because he belonged to a metiah. But that really _wasn’t_ unusual at Crimion Prep. Again, as the best and ritziest school in the country, there had been ample children of suqua, and even some children of metiah, in their class.

What was unusual was that Fitch wasn’t Mytarri. He was Mortagaia, a mort. A “normal, regular” human being originally born and bred in New York City. And he was one of Jasper Montesquieu’s best, _real_ friends.

And it was through Fitch, of course, that Jasper knew Miguel. And, over the years, as Fitch and his friendship had solidified, he had gotten to know Miguel _well_.

If Fitch had been Mytarri, and actually was Miguel’s suqua, Jasper was sure some interloper like Quinn would have never so _casually_ approached him. It would have been clear that Jasper was meant to be dalmata, that subservient class of Mytarri that supported a metiah household because of either a secondary bond with the metiah or a bond with any of the metiah’s suqua. But Fitch wasn’t suqua… Fitch wasn’t Mytarri. He was a mort. And morts didn’t have dalmata.

So there was ambiguity. And where there was ambiguity, there was always some curious, persistent soul looking to pry.

But here was Quinn Sabian. Claiming his interest had nothing to do with any of that.

It had to be false. Because what else was there? What else was there to compel some metiah to tangle with Miguel de los Santos? Quinn claimed he found Miguel attention-seeking, but that was such obvious bullshit.

Miguel owned the _Shamins_ , the nephews and niece of _Lukasz Shamin_. Lukasz Shamin, the husband and klanvada, of their nation’s ruler, Alexander Kharvortski. Miguel and Alexander Kharvortski were essentially family. No one went anywhere near that _lightly_ or _a whim_.

Something real and substantive had motivated Quinn Sabian. And Jasper was determined to figure it out.

Quinn’s comment about his lack of thorough research irked him. So he dove into the internet with kind of an obsessive intensity.

But what was infuriating was that the more he dug… the less information there was.

Quinn Sabian really did seem to be a ghost.

All that really existed of him were notes of public record. His registration as metiah, and ownership of four suqua (kind of a small suqua actually… not so different from Miguel’s).

Beyond that, there were records of how he had voted in the Crimion General Assembly. But it seemed he only participated in the mandatory assemblies, and his voting history gave very little indication to a clear political policy.

But that was it. No stories, no reporting. It was extremely disconcerting. Jasper was used to metiah like Miguel. Metiah who lived like celebrities, well within the public eye, getting off on showcasing their power and their wealth and their dominance for all the greedy, curious souls in Crimimiss.

But on Quinn Sabian? Nothing. No write-up on his business, no analysis of his personal life. Well…there was one thing.

Jasper was quite ashamed to admit this, but he had found Quinn mentioned in a few of those _lists_.

Those ridiculous, mega-trashy lists that some deranged, horny Mytarri put together on “Eligible Metiah” (aka any metiah not in a serious, committed relationship). Yes, everyone daydreamed about the idea of meeting some metiah, falling in love, getting claimed, becoming suqua, becoming _klanvada_ …

And apparently, Quinn Sabian was available. At least hypothetically, according to one absurd list, entitled “Top 100 Hottest, Single Metiah” from last year. Quinn ranked number #73, his write-up, some odd, vague paragraph next to one standard picture of him at some General Assembly, that seemed to be the only photo available online.

_“Not much is known about Quinn Sabian, beyond his gorgeous, mussed-up looks, which are always striking in the Crimion General Assembly. But aside from his participation for his civic duty, he remains largely a mystery. Our sources say he likes to keep a ‘healthy distance’ from the limelight. Who doesn’t love a handsome, mysterious man? Apparently he’s single though. None of his suqua are claimed as klanvada. And there is no evidence he’s courting anyone for klanvada, or even that he ever has. Could this be the year that changes?”_

What type of nonsense was that?

_\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

It was a week after the closet incident, as Jasper had started mentally calling it. Friday night again. No sight or sound of Quinn Sabian. No word of Quinn and Jasper interacting in a whispered rumor. All was good on the secret front.

Jasper was definitely in the mood for a distraction. So he’d suggested to Marty and Lydia that they go to Town Hall, one of the biggest and loudest clubs in Crimimiss. Even on weeknights, the place was a packed rave. And on Friday, forget about it. It was always teeming, teeming with people.

Everyone went to Town Hall. Geared to no specific taste, it was just a mass structure on the edge of the factory district in Crimimiss, styled as an Italian palazzo. The main level was this expansive dance floor, filled with nooks and crannies for VIP sections and semi-public corners for exhibitionism. Like most Crimion clubs, the upper levels contained some quieter, lounge style bars, and private rooms for paying members and patrons.

Jasper just wanted to be in thick of it, consumed by the pulsing rhythm of the music and the sweet friction of body against body.

He was dancing with Marty. Hands wrapped around his friend’s waist, with Marty’s lithe frame undulating against him. Jasper pressed wet kisses down his throat.

He was trying to distract his friend, from what was happening just slightly to their left.

Wok Dal-su had come out with them that night, who was genuinely another one of their friends, if Jasper was being honest. But Marty wasn’t interested in being honest.

Dal-su had met Marty and Lydia (then subsequently Jasper) at Crimion Public University last year. Jasper actually liked Dal-su well enough. Found him quick, perceptive, funny and loyal.

But Dal-su had a pretty fierce crush on Lydia. And it was becoming clear that this crush was returned…

So Dal-su and Lyd were dancing together. And by dancing, Jasper meant making out and dry humping. Lyd was wrapped in this skin-tight, long-sleeve dress that showed off every curve on her body, while covering every inch of skin on her arms and chest. It was the kind of thing she usually wore. Dal-su was dressed like Marty and Jasper – mostly naked. He wore a leather harness stretched over his broad, ripped pectorals, and sinuously tight black leather pants.

Lyd somehow had slithered her hand down the front of those pants, and Dal-su definitely didn’t seem to mind.

But then he grabbed her hand, pulled the roving appendage off his cock, and started to lead her through the packed crowd of people, off the dancefloor.

Marty was watching all of this, and stilled against Jasper. To which Jasper took as an opportunity to land a vicious bite on the top of his bare shoulder.

Marty hissed, and put his hands up between him and Jasper, blocking the man’s next assault.

“Cut it out,” he said, well particularly screaming over the music, “Did you see those two? Practically fucking on the dancefloor? I think they’re drunk – I should go see that they’re okay.”

“Marty,” Jasper pleaded, grabbing onto his arm, “Come on. Lyd is going to be fine. She doesn’t need you now. She’s having fun with Dal. And Dal’s a good guy.”

“Dal’s a punk.”

“He’s not a punk.”

“Well, that’s your opinion.”

And he jerked out of Jasper’s hold, stalking off, a vision in a sheer, mesh tank top, and booty shorts.

Jasper sighed, but didn’t pursue him. This dynamic needed to work itself without his interference.

So for a few moments he was alone on the dancefloor, just enjoying the pounding beat of the bass.

But then he spotted a tall glass of water to his side (built like the Hulk, this ladder of glistening musculature, wearing nothing but platinum white latex shorts that were a stark contrast to gleaming black skin).

They caught eyes. And few minutes later, it was Jasper and this stranger who were practically fucking on the dancefloor. The guy’s hands were cupped greedily over Jasper’s ass, pulling him against him, their hard-ons grinding up against each other. Jasper had hoisted a leg up, trying to get more leverage, a better angle – but fuck this, he wasn’t going to actually grind one out here.

So they retreated out of the mass of sweaty, gyrating bodies, and found an unoccupied nook, designed for these types of flings. A large column partially blocked the alcove, but otherwise it was open to the dancefloor to anyone who cared to look in. Just a shadowy little space of corner, with a padded, wide bench against one of the walls.

The stranger led him into the space, and without any pretense or ceremony, Jasper backed the guy up to the wall, and dropped to his knees in front of him.

He wanted it dirty and mindless tonight. He wanted to be _used_.

He rolled down the man’s latex shorts and almost got smacked in the face by the hard cock that sprung out. Some thick, cut length, wide and plump. Jasper tongued the tip coyly for a few seconds, delighted by the pearly liquid swelling up out of the head. But that was enough of the gentle exploration.

The stranger gripped the sides of Jasper’s head, and forced him forward. Jasper swallowed the length to the hilt, well-practiced and loving to give head. He hollowed out his cheeks and starting sucking on the cock with enthusiasm, loving the ripe, masculine taste, and the tangy musk of this guy, as his nose brushed up into the trimmed pubes.

While the man held his head in place, Jasper set his own pace, sucking and licking and all-around consuming the dick in his hot mouth.

And it didn’t take long for the guy to grip his hair with particular harshness and flood the back of his throat with cum. Jasper gasped around the cock, but shallowed it down. Then licked the man clean for good measure, and letting him pop free of his mouth with a lewd, wet squelch.

The guy now stroked Jasper’s hair, fingers tangled in the wild waves.

“Fuck,” he heard the guy say, “Fuck – you’re so fucking hot. Need to sort you – ”

And Jasper, turned on, and very aware of the crowd of people dancing just a little bit away, definitely had his hand in his own shorts, and was stroking himself in rough, twisting jerks, trying to reach that peak.

The guy noticed, and yanked Jasper’s hand away from his dick, with some kind of strangled, desperate noise. But Jasper could plot a next move, he was manhandled onto the padded bench and laid out like some drunken feast. The guy was on the ground, kneeling at one end of the bench, between Jasper’s legs.

Thick fingers, clumsy in their eagerness, helped Jasper shimmy out of his own shorts (these daisy duke style threads), and soon the guy lunged forward, slurping down on Jasper’s cock.

Jasper had himself propped up on a pillow, partially leaning on an elbow, his other hand rubbing down the man’s neck and back, as he tried to suck Jasper’s brain out through his dick. Gods, this guy felt good. Jasper was slightly buzzed, very horny, very distracted – just giving in the toe-curling sensations of this slick, tight mouth slurping down on him.

But there was…

Something…

With a bit of a start, Jasper realized they were being actively watched. By someone close. Closer than the throng of Friday night partiers a few meters away.

Jasper looked up. Leaning against the column, standing partially in the alcove, was Quinn Sabian. Smiling, casual. Dressed completely in the antithesis of all other club-goers, in his usual loose jeans, and some baggy, white t-shirt.

He saw Jasper had spotted him, and gave a playful wink. Gleaming caramel brown eyes.

In what seemed almost like an out of body experience, Jasper found himself gripping onto the man’s head’s, his painted, pointed nails surely digging into the guy’s scalp. He came abruptly with the force of hurricane, like some wild, natural disaster.

His eyes closed as he orgasmed, helpless in the visceral sensation of it. And when he came off the peak, trying to manage his jagged, irregular breathing, he found the spot by the column deserted. Just Jasper and this stranger in the alcove.

The guy kneeling down between Jasper’s legs had been oblivious. He was just kissing Jasper’s softening length, licking up any residue of cum.

Fuck… That free-falling, sinking feeling was spreading through his stomach. His heart started ratcheting again.

With some hurried, careless words, he dragged the guy up for some haphazard kiss, thanked him for the fun, and was rushing back into the dancefloor, buttoning back up his shorts.

He scanned the crowd for the lanky, blonde metiah, but there was no sign. And Jasper wasn’t even sure if he was trying to run away from him, or find him. Fuck, wait, no – his thoughts were too jumbled from the alcohol and the sex.

He **_didn’t_** want to find the metiah. This place was way too public and crowded for any type of interaction. Who knows if someone had already seen Quinn creeping on him?

No, the party was over. Time to get the fuck out of here.

He gave a cursory search for Marty, Lydia and Dal-su, but they were likely occupied in some upstairs room.

So he sent them an apologetic text. Collected his items from the coat check at reception. And rushed out into the cool Crimimiss night, alone, looking for a cab home.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quinn Sabian came back a few days later.

It was a late night for Jasper at CIT. He was in Carson’s office, working through some program on some of Car’s computers. Carson had been here with him earlier, but had called it quits about an hour ago, needing to go home to his husband and their young son.

Jasper still wanted to work on this issue though. This stretch of programming was being particularly tricky – it was _interesting_ – and so he just set up camp in Carson’s office, preparing for a late night of coding.

But then the door to the small office opened. And it wasn’t his advisor. It was this bizarre metiah who was stalking him for reasons unknown.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” the man said brightly, happily, walking into the room like he owned it, like he’d been there millions of times before.

Jasper was sure his expression was a mix of fear, but also exasperated indignation. Rationally, he knew he should be incredibly terrified right about now. But the more and more Quinn showed up, and just behaved as some ridiculous stalker… the harder Jasper was finding it to be scared of him.

What the fuck was wrong with him? This was a metiah. _Metiah_. Dominating, megalomaniacs whose main motivation in life was to _own other people_. He already had one of those in his life, and he certainly didn’t need another. He should heading immediately for the door. Not loitering around, curious… _intrigued_. Not fascinated by why this person was so persistently stalking him. And who didn’t seem even slightly abashed by it.

This was getting weird. Well, weirder.

“Quinn Sabian,” he replied, watching as the man pulled over a chair to the station where Jasper was working.

The metiah leaned back into the chair, propping his feet up on some other chair nearby. Spread out, sprawled, casual. With the mussed, dirty blonde, and the scruffy stubble, and loose jeans, and baggy hoodie, and well-used trainers on his feet.

Maybe Quinn was broke, Jasper thought. Maybe that’s why there was no mention of his business or dealings online. Because he has none. Maybe that’s why he always looked like some scattered slacker.

Jasper blinked, aware that he’d just been staring at Quinn. Checking him out for a lack of better term. He forced his attention back on the monitors in front of him.

“So you’re lurking around CIT again,” Jasper said, not looking at the metiah, “Is this your primary hobby?”

“No,” Quinn replied, “At least it hasn’t been. Surprised to see you here so late though. Thought you might be back on the town. Hitting the clubs.”

Jasper didn’t have to look to know the man was smiling, amused. He hadn’t expected Quinn to acknowledge his voyeurism at Town Hall, but apparently there really was no shame in his game. Jasper refused to rise to the bait though.

“Not today,” he said dismissively, “Just finishing up some work. Some of us have to do that, you know. Work. Is that something you ever do?”

And Quinn was suddenly moving into his space, eyes soaking up the monitors.

“To be honest, work is something I try to avoid,” he paused. Inspected Jasper’s programs more thoroughly. “This is the Homeland Defense grid that you were working on. From your presentation.”

It wasn’t a question. Just a statement.

Despite himself, Jasper looked back at Quinn. Their faces much closer. Annoyingly, the comment took him off-guard. He didn’t expect that Quinn actually knew anything about software engineering. Maybe it was just a lucky guess.

“Yes,” Jasper conceded, “Working on some trouble-shooting now.”

“Did you figure out the issue with the Turkmenistan input?”

“No…still working on that. The data comes in patches, and it’s all irregular…”

And somehow, and Jasper _really didn’t know how_ , the two of them ended up talking for a half hour about Jasper’s project. To be fair, Quinn wasn’t really talking that much. Just asking some guiding questions. And the geek in Jasper could really only be held at bay for so long. If anyone seemed even vaguely interested in his work, he was always happy to talk about it.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if he should have some reservations about this discussion. But there was nothing nefarious in Jasper’s work. Hardly any classified or propriety information. The true interest of the project was in the unique technical process of this endeavor. And you had to be really close to the ground on developments in the encryption world to fully understand the implications of why this was interesting.

So they just chatted for a bit, the tone surprisingly easy. At one point, Jasper was almost forgetting that this was another metiah, and not some random post-grad student at CIT.

“Anyways,” Jasper was saying, “This kickback they put in was wild. Some of the guys showed me a bit of the pseudocode. I took a picture actually.”

Jasper opened up his phone, and showed the blurry snap of one of his classmate’s screens.

“Interesting,” Quinn said.

But then, out of the nowhere, Quinn had Jasper’s phone in his hands.

A fresh wave of panic rolled through him.

“Hey – Give that – Hey!”

But Quinn was up, out of the chair, walking away from Jasper, scrolling through some of the phone’s contents.

Jasper thought about chasing after him, but then thought better of it. That probably wouldn’t end well.

“Would you please give my phone back,” he said, deciding to try a polite tact.

“Just a sec,” Quinn said, texting something into the phone, “You have a surprisingly limited amount of dick pics on here.”

“Just give me the damn phone.”

“Easy, easy. Oh look, some texts from DLS…”

Jasper felt something disintegrate inside him. Fuck, he was so stupid. He felt himself stand up, shuffle awkwardly towards the metiah.

“Quinn – “ he hissed, some strangled, desperate sound that seemed foreign to his ears. He reached out for the phone, but Quinn dodged him easily. Very fast. Too fast.

“Hey, no need for a conniption. Just having a little look. I told you, I’m very curious. It’s a bad habit, but I can’t help it. And you know, after your proclamation of love and loyalty last week to the De Los Santos establishment, I was honestly expecting some kind of irate call from that knacky attention whore. But oddly nothing. Seems like I might not have any reason for concern though.”

Quinn stopped his serpentining side-steps to look up from the phone. Gaze directly at Jasper. Clear, direct engagement. Jasper could feel himself blushing in the wake of the unasked question.

_Why haven’t you told him?_

Jasper let the silence drag on longer than it should have. Finally he made another lunge at Quinn, who again swerved easily.

“Just give me my damn phone back,” Jasper said, inexplicably feeling like he had to blink back tears.

Quinn stopped moving again, and shook his head, in some exaggerated, mock-disapproval.

“You know, Jasper,” he said, “Just some friendly advice. If any of my suquas’ _real_ friends were talking with another metiah… and they didn’t tell me about, like after _weeks_ had gone by… Like, I’d be pissed off. Just saying. That’s just me though, personally. Again, I don’t know Miguel at all. No idea what he’s like.”

“No,” Jasper said, thankfully feeling his despair start shift back to anger, “No, you don’t know shit about it.”

And he swiped again for his phone, which Quinn let him take back.

“Why don’t you go –”

But Jasper didn’t get a chance to finish.

Quinn surged forward, and kissed Jasper on the mouth. The kiss was harsh, demanding, insistent. Quinn’s lips seemed set to devour to Jasper, pulling and sucking at him. There was a bite. Some thick, lush tongue demanding entry to his mouth.

Jasper got a hold of himself. Broke the seal of their mouths. Shoved Quinn back.

“Get out,” he hissed, “Get the fuck out.”

Quinn was panting slightly. But he smiled. Wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Shiny, slick, peach-colored flesh. It look bitten. Had Jasper bit him too?

“Sure,” Quinn said, easily, calmly, “It’s getting late. Nice to talk to you, Jasper. As always.”

And he turned and left the office.

Jasper remained rooted where he stood. Painfully aware of the hot, pulsing line of arousal that had settled in his groin. And he kept replaying those last couple minutes of the encounter over and over again in his mind.

But then he remembered the phone in his hands.

Rapidly, he started into the contents, looking for any evidence of malicious meddling. But after twenty minutes, logging into every backup and refresh software he could think of, Jasper couldn’t find anything. Quinn hadn’t reached out to the Miguel. No text, email, nothing… And Quinn also hadn’t taken any of his data, or anything private and sensitive from his phone.

All Quinn had done was entered his information into Jasper’s contacts… His extensive contact information. Phone, email… and _address_.

And then Quinn had texted himself from Jasper’s phone, so he would have Jasper’s number.

The text he sent himself was: _Next time bring food._

What in the actual fuck?


	3. Don't You Get Clever

“I’m allied to the winter.  
But don’t you get clever.  
Don’t you get clever.  
I’m allied to the landslide.  
Gonna leave you all severed  
Gonna leave you all severed

I was born to a jackal.  
I was born in a whiteout.  
Gonna smother you all till I choke you.  
Gonna smother you all till you kick out.”

The Decemberists, “Severed”

_Jasper_

Quinn Sabian showed up the following week. With food.

It was another late night for Jasper at CIT. Once again, he had camped out in Carson’s office, long after his advisor had left for the evening.

Rationally, Jasper knew he could stop working late at night, and working by himself. It wasn’t as convenient to work at home, but it could be done if needed.

But…well, why should he have to alter his schedule to avoid some crazy stalker?

And so he didn’t.

Quinn barged into Carson’s as brash as before.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” he called out, all cheery.

“Quinn Sabian.”

Jasper hated how aware he was of Quinn’s presence – this tall, lanky figure that pulled up a chair besides his station again, movements all fluid and easy and comfortable.

Jasper hated it – the entitlement.

But he made the mistake of looking away from his computers, looking at the metiah.

He found the man staring back at him, expression calm and clear with a small, sincere smile. A small smile on those smooth peach lips … lips that had descended on his own with such swift, demanding force— 

_Fuck_. This had to end. Tonight.

But then Quinn abruptly deposited a brown bag over Jasper’s keyboard.

“You hungry?” he asked, “I made some casserole yesterday. Tuna. It’s good.”

“…You brought me your leftover tuna casserole.”

Jasper pushed his swivel chair back from the desk, gaining distance from Quinn and his inane dinner offerings.

He looked the man dead in his warm brown eyes.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Jasper said.

“No. No… I’m not going anywhere yet.”

The statement should have filled him with a lot more dread than it did. Mostly, Jasper was feeling exasperated. Angry. At Quinn. At _himself_.

“I’m busy,” Jasper said, “I’m working now. And you’re in my way.”

“In your way?” Quinn laughed, and craned his neck to Jasper’s screens, “So what’s tonight’s project? Oh, more encryption de-stabilization. This looks fun.”

“Just fuck off,” Jasper hissed, his patience quickly unraveling. Quinn was getting too close. Too in his space. He picked up the bag of food and chucked it back at the metiah’s chest. “Take your damn casserole and get out of here.”

“I already told you – _no_. Not going anywhere. So what are you doing here?” Quinn tapped a line of code, “This looks problematic with that firewall bug.”

“What?” Unable to help himself, Jasper found himself drawing his chair forward again, closer to the screens, “Oh fuck it! I missed that stupid update. Fuck… this is going to take me back all night.”

“Eh,” Quinn shrugged, unearthing a plastic container from his bag, “The update just came out this weekend. Easy to miss. I wouldn’t sweat it.”

“Well, I _would_ sweat it. It’s for my next round for the Vendetti app. And it’s due on Friday. Fuck.”

“The Vendetti app? You’re applying for the summer fellowship?”

“Of course. Assuming I meet the application deadlines. Oh gods, this is going to take ages to adjust.”

If Jasper was looking at the situation rationally, he might find it odd that being off-track for his summer fellowship application was causing him more panic than a strange metiah’s presence in the office with him. A metiah who showed no indication that he was going to leave anytime soon.

But, for whatever reason, that seemed less pertinent than the idea of not getting this summer job. Working at Vendetti was a _dream_. Proper, deep-dive security programming. There was really no other Crimion company that appealed to him more.

He lasered back in on the programming, Quinn’s movements just some peripheral distraction.

“Do you have a microwave in here?” he heard the metiah say.

And somehow, an hour later, Jasper would come to realize that he was camped out, deep into his code… and for reasons very unknown, eating some re-heated tuna casserole (which was actually okay).

All the while, Quinn Sabian remained sprawled out in a chair besides Jasper’s desk. Sometimes watching Jasper work, sometimes offering random bits of surprisingly relevant commentary about the programming… but mostly just doing something on a tablet of his own.

And they remained like that for the next few hours. With Quinn occasionally heating up more leftovers.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks later, Fitch Delford was back in Crimimiss. Back from New York City, where he was enrolled in Sterling Xchielkla’s crazy, controversial university…A university where (if all went to plan) Jasper would be joining him next year.

But for once, Jasper had bigger concerns than the impending call of “Ridgeview University”.

No, right now, Jasper needed to talk to Fitch.

And by needed to talk to Fitch…he meant, he needed to talk to Fitch _over a month ago_.

They were in Fitch’s bedroom. Well, more aptly, Fitch’s _suite_.

Like everything else in the De Los Santos Estate, the space was grand and opulent. A living area that could comfortably host a family of six, and an adjourning bedroom equally as spacious.

But Jasper had been visiting Fitch here for nearly a decade, and these rooms, the whole De Los Santos estate really, felt comfortable to him now. Not anywhere near as cozy and warm as family’s home, but still… He saw it now more as place where his friend and his family lived, rather than a sprawling museum.

Regardless, they were settled on one of the plush, over-stuffed sofas in Fitch’s lounge.

Where Fitch was gaping at Jasper without any attempt at restraint.

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” he hissed, his face reddening, “ _Another_ metiah? Who – what – what the fuck?”

Jasper realized he was biting his lips, and wringing his hands. He forced himself to stop the nervous fidgeting. That wasn’t going to be useful now. He need to be clear, alert and focused.

This was serious.

This was … shit getting real.

“I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t you sooner,” Jasper said, “This…I should _have_ but…this whole thing kind of spiraled, and I wanted, _needed_ , to tell you in person.”

Fitch just gaped at him. Literally fish-mouthed, jaw-dropped.

Jasper felt more than a pang of guilt ring through his rising nerves.

Typically, when Fitch arrived back in town after a long trip, Jasper tried to be respectful and let him have a few days with his family and suqua and metiah, before seeing him in-person. But Fitch was only back for a couple weeks, and this was urgent. So Jasper had demanded to see him today, after he’d just arrived last night, claiming it an emergency.

Clearly, that had been the right call – even though his friend now looked like he was about to vomit or go into cardiac arrest.

“Alright,” Fitch said, closing his mouth, straightening up a bit, trying to inhale deeply. “Just start at the beginning. What’s going on?”

And Jasper launched into the tale. Starting with the encounter after his presentation in October and ending with… ending with a couple days ago, when Quinn again had hung out with him late at night at university… as he’d been doing with increasingly regularity over the past few weeks.

Fitch listened to this all in silence, absorbing. His bright, brown eyes growing larger and larger in disbelief.

Fitch always looked so clean-cut, sweet and pretty. With neatly trimmed, mousy brown hair, warm, brown eyes and this gentle, golden tan than persisted despite the seasons. Really some classic “all-American” beauty. But now those sweet features were marred by this evolving grimace on his friend’s face. Some of kind of slow-moving horror that contorted his brow, making him look a lot older, a lot more world-weary than his mortal twenty-two years should.

Eventually Jasper was done with his story. An ominous silence stretched. Fitch’s eyes still bulged. Jasper could feel himself start to sweat.

“So…say something, would you? What… How… I mean, what do you think?—”

“And you haven’t told Miguel about this?!” Fitch snapped. He slide down the cushions a bit, working his way towards Jasper at the other end of the sofa. “I just… I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you say anything? What… What are you trying to do?”

That made Jasper jolt. And despite himself, his eyes started to narrow.

“Trying to do? Seriously! You think I sought this out?”

“Fuck you, Jasper Montesquieu,” Fitch said, voice clear and unperturbed. He gaze hardened slightly; his mouth closed. “Fuck you. If you think for one goddamn second you’re going to pull some victimized bullshit with me, then you’re crazy. If you had wanted this to stop, you would have fucking _told_ me about it, and not waited weeks until I happened to be back in Crimimiss. So, one more time for the people in the back, what are you trying to do here? What is going on?”

Jasper kept his eye contact with Fitch, who stared back, unfazed and unflinchingly.

Yes, Fitch was Mortagaia – a regular, mort human who had been forced into the world of Mytarri by his father’s decisions. But since he was five years old, he had lived in Crimimiss. He’d grown up in a suqua household and was now a dweilta (a mort pet) of a Mytarri metiah. Fitch wasn’t naïve and he wasn’t an idiotic sheep. He knew when people were trying to play with him, and he could shut it down as effectively as most Mytarri.

It was one of the many reasons Jasper loved him. That strength. That ability to adapt and thrive in this world. Fitch staring at Jasper now, with that confident demeanor and poise … It just made Jasper want to pounce on him, and fuck him into the sofa.

But that, unfortunately, wasn’t allowed.

And regardless… as much as he loved Fitch (and it was a _genuine_ love in friendship, that was true)… as much as he loved him…there was a reason he had literally told no one else about these new developments in his life.

Part of it was cowardice, yes… and that was what he was addressing today. Because it was time to suck it up, and deal with the consequences for his actions.

But the other part… The other reason for why he’d let this thing with Quinn develop in silence…

Well, that wasn’t for Fitch. Or Lydia or Marty. Or his siblings. Or his parents. No, it wasn’t for anyone else. At least not yet.

And Fitch, strong and brave as he was…well, he wasn’t strong enough to able to get that out from him.

It was the other encounter that would happen later today… that was what Jasper was truly worried about.

But not for right now. Now was to ease his friend.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jasper said at last, breaking their silent stare-off. That was true… if it wasn’t _the truth_. “I had no designs for this. No grand schemes. It’s great that you think I’m so connected though.”

“Shut up,” Fitch said, with no heat, “You know passive aggressive doesn’t work for you. I’m not – ” Fitch broke the gaze, ran his hand through his short hair. “I’m not saying you needed to stop this. I’m just... You should have told me when this started. I could have helped you more… And now I can’t.”

“I know. That’s why I’m sorry. If I had thought it had anything to do with you or your suqua, I would have –”

“But it does, Jay! It _does_. Of course I fucking know that you wouldn’t do anything to harm me! But that doesn’t mean this is _harmless_. The opposite actually… And now we have to tell Miguel, and fuck…I could have used a warning, you know?”

Jasper crossed the remaining distance between them, and grabbed Fitch’s wrist. It was a very Mytarri gesture, meant to show love and fellowship, without getting into invasive territory by touching near the brands. Fitch was a mort, and didn’t have amma brands in his hands. But he knew the gesture and the implications.

“I’m sorry,” Jasper said again, “I love you. For Miguel, you’re doing everything right. All the fault in this situation is mine, and I accept that. And I’ll deal with that.”

“Bullshit,” Fitch muttered, looking down at the hand that clasped his wrist, “You’re not alone in this… And now we’re both going to get hurt.”

Jasper didn’t respond.

What could he say to that? Yes, he knew they would get hurt. _Of course_ , they would get hurt. That was this life. That was what was necessary to grow and gain any type of power in this often harsh and twisted world.

Jasper had accepted that long ago. And as long as the people he loved weren’t _harmed_ … he would keep pressing on.

Fitch looked up suddenly. Startled Jasper out of his reverie.

He had put on a small smile.

“Okay,” he said, breathing out, “So do you want to stay for dinner?”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinner at the De Los Santos Estate was always an _experience_. An experience which varied drastically depending on who was around.

Miguel liked his suqua to gather around for the evening meal, pretty common in Mytarri society. This standing tradition naturally extended to Fitch and his family, who even though were Mortagaia were owned by Miguel. And then, everyone could invite whoever they wanted.

In general, the vibe was usually casual. Despite the palatial setting of the estate, they ate in one of the least ostentatious rooms of the main house. Just a long mahogany table surrounded by comfortable, plush chairs. A group of family and friends chatting about the day and all other manner of random topics.

But Jasper had been invited for dinner many times over the years, and he’d seen all kinds of scenarios played around this table. Some that still made the hair on his arms stand up if he thought about it too long…

But tonight… Tonight was entirely different.

Thank the gods, there was a larger crowd that night. Minimal focus on him. All of Miguel’s suqua … which was really a small group of only three people. The three Shamin siblings: Tony, Benji and Melissa. But they were all it took for Miguel to acquire the insane political influence that he had … As the only nephews and nieces of Lukasz Shamin, the klanvada and husband of the Chancellor, it didn’t get more politically connected than that.

Anyways, the suqua were all there tonight and they’d brought a small gang – Tony’s lover and some of their other friends. Then there were Fitch’s parents, Will and Jasmine, and Fitch’s younger sister Natalie. And then there were also a couple random associates from the Bank of Crimimiss.

Miguel was holding court at the other end of the table and had barely spared Jasper a glance when they entered the dining room.

He took a seat, as far away from Miguel as was possible, and watched as Fitch went to talk with him. They exchanged a couple minutes of conversation and Fitch came back and sat next to him.

“He’ll talk with us after dinner,” Fitch said.

And so, for the better part of an hour, Jasper had been moving various pieces of food around his plate… waiting.

He was sweating. His stomach had contorted itself. He was could hear his heartbeat rattling away. Every minute was torture.

He mostly keep his eyes on his plate, dodging Fitch’s parents’ well-meaning questions. He kept hearing snippets of Miguel’s conversation and found himself darting glances every time he thought he heard a suspect word.

But there wasn’t a mention of Jasper … or of Quinn Sabian for that matter. Miguel seemed perfectly at ease, absorbed in casual banter with his suqua and friends.

But finally there was a lull in conversation. Miguel stood up from the table, removing himself from the group.

“Fitch,” he called out, “You guys want to come with me?”

It was a rhetorical question. Miguel was already walking out of the dining room, leaving Fitch and Jasper to hurry up and follow him.

Jasper ducked his chin into his neck, avoiding some of the curious looks from the table.

His heart was absolutely ratchetting by that point. His lungs had tightened. He mostly stumbled after Fitch, as they went into Miguel’s private study.

The memories threatened to overwhelm. The last time Jasper had been in this study had been one of the worst experiences of his life. 

But as the cliché went – that was then, this was now.

He was older. Maybe a little wiser. And Fitch was here.

Yes, Fitch was here with him. And he would force himself to do this for _both_ of their sakes. 

Miguel had already sat himself down behind his desk.

He gestured for Fitch and Jasper to sit in the chairs in front of it, which they quickly did.

And for the first time that night, Miguel directly engaged Jasper.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” he said. Beginning with someone’s full name – the formal, polite Mytarri convention of acknowledging someone with respect. It meant that Miguel regarded him as someone capable enough to have a legitimate conversation with him.

“Miguel de los Santos,” Jasper returned, putting all his energy into keeping his voice steady.

Miguel smiled, and it wasn’t an unkind gesture.

Miguel de los Santos was _complicated_. A powerful, intelligent, _complex_ person. But by anyone’s standards, he was an _exceptional_ metiah – in the truest sense of that word.

Miguel was very young to have acquired the kind of power he had. At fifty-two, he was a young adult for a Mytarri, not that far from adolescence. But in his short life, he had managed to gain indisputable political power, direct influence with the Chancellor and lest anyone forget, some of the _most substantial wealth_ in Crimimiss.

And despite all of this, he could make himself look like an innocent. With his thick-rimmed glasses, patterned cardigans, skinny jeans and often unkempt brown hair … he looked more like a university student than one of their country’s elites. But that was all theatre. If you really looked past the wide, pearly-white smile you would see the energy swirling in those deep brown eyes. A cyclone of ideas that often streamed out of his smiling mouth in rush of fast-paced, smooth-sounding commentary.

Yes, he was charming, effusive, charismatic … and unquestionably devoted to those he loved. But he was also cunning, devious, ruthless … and sometimes shockingly cruel. All of this Jasper had learned though Fitch … and through his own firsthand experience.

He found himself gripping the armrests of his chair, his palms slick with sweat.

“Fitch told me,” Miguel continued, still all smiles, “that you wanted to talk with me. And judging from the expression on your face, I’d say that either someone has died… or that you’ve done something terribly stupid. So by all means, the floor is the yours.”

There was silence for a moment. Jasper could feel Fitch’s intense gaze on him, waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to stop the tension from mounting any further. But Jasper didn’t look at his friend – his focus was entirely on the man on the other side of the desk.

He swallowed. Exhaled. And somehow managed to start talking.

“Last month, I gave a presentation at uni. A man approached me afterwards. His name was Quinn Sabian.”

The smile on Miguel’s face shifted. It went from wide and welcoming to small and thoughtful. And Jasper saw the exact moment when that glean manifested in Miguel’s eyes. Like some switch had turned on – certain gears grinding into action.

“Oh, okay… I see,” he said. He leaned back into his chair, eyes still widening.

There was a short pause and Jasper wondered if he should start explaining further, when Miguel re-directed his gaze.

“Fitch,” he said, voice soft, “Would you leave us alone for a bit?”

Jasper’s heart plummeted into his intestines. He shifted to look at Fitch, whose face had gone corpse white. His eyes seemed about to bulge out of his head, darting between Miguel and Jasper.

“I … I don’t – “

“ _Fitch_.”

And that was an entirely different tone. One that left no room for discussion. For a moment, Jasper forgot his own predicament, concerned for his friend. But Fitch’s attention was all on Miguel now. Eyes intent on his metiah and master.

He nodded, expression grim. Then he rose from his seat and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Jasper felt his absence immediately. It was like an Arctic pressure system had descended into the room. Fitch was his safety net here in the De Los Santos realm of existence. Not only was he his reason for being here in the first place, but he was Jasper’s protection. Without that, he was just an interloper in this world… A low-class, low-born, _knacky_ little worm who had no business here.

_Horrible_ memories threatened to consume. A devastating déjà vu of the last time he’d been alone in this study.

Miguel watched him.

“So,” he started, “Another metiah approached you… What happened next?”

Jasper swallowed again. More like gulped.

“Well… he kept approaching me…”

“Where?”

“At uni…”

“And what did he do?”

And Jasper started off into the tale. An edited version. He didn’t mention the encounter at the club …

Miguel listened through Jasper’s explanation, still with the small, thoughtful smile, still with the glean in his eyes.

After Jasper wrapped up, there was silence. Jasper had been whipping through his narration, trying to breath, but the nerves made that difficult. Now as the quiet dragged on, he forced himself to taking a couple calming breaths. Tried to observe the man in front with some rationality.

Miguel didn’t look … _angry_. Or annoyed. Or irritated. He just looked contemplative.

And after a couple seconds, he was on his feet.

“Well, Jay,” he said, walking over to the sideboard by the wall, “That definitely is a story. An interesting one too. So interesting – Quinn Sabian. _Quinn Sabian_. Not a name you hear everyday. Unless apparently, you’re you. Well, anyways, first things first – You want a drink?”

Miguel was already pouring two drams of whisky.

Jasper managed a nod.

Miguel brought the glasses over to the low coffee table and sat on the sofa. He gestured for Jasper to join him. And bewildered, Jasper did. He sat on the other side of the cushions, as far away from Miguel as he could manage.

He felt off-kilter, unbalanced. What the fuck was happening? Going to happen?

“So,” Miguel continued. He handed Jasper his glass and clanked them together. “Congratulations. You finally managed to reel one in.”

FUCK.

“I didn’t reel—”

“And not only have you got a metiah, you’ve got a _ghost_ metiah. Who the fuck is Quinn Sabian? I don’t really know – You clearly don’t know. And yet here he is. So let’s just dissect this a little.”

Miguel adjusted his glasses, turned on the sofa to face Jasper more fully. His brown eyes were _glistening_ with anticipation.

“First of all, the fact that this has been going on for over a month is – Wow. Like what is going on there? You’re obviously being greedy and _knacky_ , which is no surprise. I even – “ Miguel put his hands emphatically over his heart “— I even understand. But what is most perplexing, most troubling – is that I genuinely knew nothing about this. Like honest to the gods knew _nothing_.

“So what’s happening with that? Well, either I fucked up which – “ Miguel raised his arms in surrender “ – is clearly a possibility. Like, just being honest, in terms of people I’m stalking, you’re not, let’s say, at the _top_ of that list. But, you’re _on_ the list. Definitely on it. So this could clearly be a case of me dropping the ball. Because if my Fitch’s best friend is talking to another metiah, that really should be something I should know. So maybe I fucked up. Simple as that.

“Or…. second possibility. Someone really, really did not want me to know about this. Like _really_ didn’t. Because we all know you can keep secrets in Crimimiss, but only if you’re going to seriously commit to it. And as you’re here, talking to me now, I’ll take a wild guess and say that person wasn’t you. So we’ll have to look at the other side of this equation.”

Miguel paused and took a sip of the whisky. Jasper hadn’t touched his. He could feel his face reddening, the sweat starting again. Miguel got manic like this when he was excited about something. But what exactly was he excited about? And where was train headed? At the moment, Jasper was sure it was going barreling over a cliff. Maybe he should drink…

“So,” Miguel continued, “The other side of this equation is Quinn. Why would he go through the trouble to hide this? He would know it wouldn’t stay secret for long. He knows that you’re for Fitch, and he fucking knows that Fitch is mine. So what would he want? Not to keep it secret, not to hide it forever, but … to stall… To stall until what though? What is he doing? What happened in the past month? Well, a lot of variables there. ”

Miguel took another sip.

“So there’s that,” he said, “Let’s put that aside for now. And we’ll come to the crux of it. You and Quinn.”

He gave Jasper a clear, pointed look that brought the blood in his face to a full, burning blush.

“He’s sweet on you,” the metiah continued, “You’re loving that. You clearly haven’t told me some sexual encounter between you two… So the question is why? Why the lovely interest?”

There was a long pause before Jasper got over his embarrassment to realize Miguel expected an answer.

“I – “ he started, and Miguel immediately cut him off.

“Don’t you fucking say you don’t know. Or I swear to the gods, I will throw you out that goddamn window. You’re on thin ice with me, Jasper Montesquieu. Thin fucking ice. So watch yourself.”

Jasper closed his mouth. Put the drink on the table. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. There were few moments in life where real opportunity presented itself. And this was a _real_ opportunity. Jasper knew that painfully well from having explored many, many _fake_ opportunities.

So it needed to be seized. 

Jasper wasn’t passive. He hadn’t risked his welfare, his _friend Fitch’s_ welfare, to be passive. This was his chance.

He knew in that moment that it would be impossible to lie to Miguel. Impossible and _harmful_. So he latched on to the obvious part of it. The part that _wasn’t_ based off Jasper’s intuition and feelings.

No, he went with the obvious, concrete part, and hoped that would be enough for Miguel. The rest of it… That was for him.

“He’s interested in my programming,” Jasper said, forcing himself to meet Miguel’s illuminated eyes, “I mean, there would have been no other reason for him to have been at that presentation. Once he saw me… I guess he thought he could play me… that he _wanted_ to play me…”

He let the last phrase linger and focused all his energy into stopping any shaking or tremors in his body.

Miguel just stared at him, eyes popping with intelligence and curiosity.

The silence devoured. Jasper could feel his throat constricting, his body sweating.

It was getting to the point where he just wanted something – _anything_ – to break the tension.

Finally, Miguel shifted his gaze. It felt like a heat lamp had been removed. The metiah looked at his glass of whiskey and took a long drink. His eyes were focused downwards now, away from Jasper. And when he spoke again, it seemed to be to himself.

“You fucked up, Jay,” he said, “You really fucked up. This is an extremely exciting time of your life. But it’s also the most unstable, the most dangerous … If you had to come to me correct, I would have helped you with this. But now I’m not so inclined.”

Jasper’s head was swarming, trying to understand the implications of this. But he had no time to figure this out. Miguel kept talking.

“I understand why you did it. Right now this seems like the most precious and liberating scheme of your life. And I’m genuinely happy for you, even though you won’t understand that now.

“But all this being said, you still majorly fucked up. You’re so wrapped up in your own _knacky_ , selfish aspirations, you went ahead and did the one thing I told you clearly to never do.

“You _jeopardized_ Fitch. You jeopardized _what is mine_. And only because I know without a doubt that this is the result of youthful ignorance, and not malice, am I going to continue to tolerate you.”

Miguel faced him now. His eyes _burned_. Jasper felt his skin flushing, the tremor in his hands rattling again.

“You’re never going to act like this again. Not while you claim to be ours. If another metiah or their suqua or the fucking Chancellor approach you, you will tell Fitch or me immediately. If you don’t, I will _harm_ you. Do you understand me?”

Jasper felt like his ribcage had dissolved in acid. This was horrible.

“…Yes...” he managed to say, his voice a warbled mess.

Miguel just shook his head. Rolled his eyes.

“No you don’t understand,” he murmured, looking away from Jasper, “But you will soon.”

Now what THE FUCK did that mean?!

And abruptly, Miguel stood up. Walked back over to his desk.

“Get out of my house. You aren’t welcome here. You can come back when you come correctly.”

For a moment, every synapse in Jasper’s brain seemed to have shut down.

But one more withering look from Miguel and he was moving.

On his feet.

Out of the study.

Exiting.

Outside, Fitch had been waiting in a lounge across the corridor. When he saw Jasper leave the study, he got up from his seat.

“Jay!” he called out. Miguel’s office was soundproof; Fitch wouldn’t have heard any of the conversation. But the look on his face must have revealed more than enough.

Jasper ignored Fitch’s calls and just hurried away. Out of the heart of this crazy palatial. Out into the frigid evening air.

He broke into a jog, some crazed whirring sound consuming his head, as brain struggled to keep from crashing under the weight of that conversation.

He eventually made it to the edge of the mountain top where Miguel’s estate was perched. The Eastern Mountains. Miguel owned most of the land up here. His home was built on this imposing peak that had the most spectacular view of the city of Crimimiss beneath it.

Tonight, the view looked radiant. Thousands upon thousands of electric lights sprawled out before him. Jasper couldn’t wait to get back into that warm, illuminated world and out of this insane, painful realm.

There were two ways up to this estate. One was a breakneck mountain road with hairpin switchbacks and sheer cliff drops. The other was a gondola lift that connected the edge of the complex to a station at the base of the mountain. Both entrance points at the top and bottom were guarded, but regardless the gondola itself would only operate by hand-scan. And then it would only move for approved users.

Miguel’s guards didn’t stop him. And luckily the system in the gondola still accepted him as a user. Jasper had been picked up by one Miguel’s drivers when he came up here. But he had thought that metiah might have done something very petty, like made him walk all the way back down the mountain. But luckily the cable car doors closed, and the lift started lowering down.

Jasper watched the lights of the city get the closer, the outline of the buildings clearer. By himself, leaving the mountain farther and farther, he could start to try to unpack the tsunami of thoughts ripping through his mind.

The most immediate, the one that needed the most attention.

Miguel seemed to have threatened him with something imminent. Some punishment for his behavior.

 _“No you don’t understand, but you will soon.”_

What the fuck did that mean? What had Miguel done? What was he doing?

Eventually the gondola reached the base of the mountain. The two guards down at that station didn’t spare Jasper a glance. He rushed out of the cable car, blindly moving forward.

There was nothing really out by the gondola station. Just a deserted stretch of road outside the main city limits. No one came out here unless they were going to the De Los Santos Estate.

Jasper just started walking. He had to get somewhere – anywhere, where he could process everything that had just happened and figure out what Miguel had meant with his vague, ominous words.

After about five minutes of just trudging in the dark, on the side of this vacant street, he noticed something odd.

He was being watched. Followed.

An old, rusted out pickup truck had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. And it was creeping along, following him as he walked.

Jasper stopped moved and the truck stopped too.

The window rolled down.

Quinn Sabian was in the driver’s seat.

“Get in,” he said.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come next week :) Thank you for reading!


	4. Get Right Back to Where We Started From

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gratuitous bit of slice of life in this one... 
> 
> Hope this fantasy provides some escapism with everything going on.

“And it's alright  
and it's coming along --  
We got to get right back to where we started from.  
Love is good.  
Love can be strong.  
We got to get right back to where started from.

Do you remember that day? (That sunny day)  
When you first came my way…  
I said no one could take your place.  
And if you get hurt (if you get hurt)  
by the little things I say  
I can put that smile back on your face.”

-Maxine Nightingale, “Right Back to Where We Started From”

_Fitch – An Interlude_

Fitch watched Jasper leave. His friend practically running out the door. Oh shit, this had clearly gone terribly.

Without even being aware of what he was doing, he found himself back in Miguel’s study.

Miguel sat on the sofa, talking to someone very quickly on his phone. It sounded like… military? Fitch wasn’t really comprehending, the words just washing over him.

He was more concerned with observing Miguel. Trying to gauge where he was at emotionally. But it wasn’t much use. Miguel’s eyes sparked with energy, some veritable tornado of emotions mixed into the black of his irises. But his body language was tense, his free hand massaged the back of his neck as he spoke into the phone speaker.

The unease kept building until Fitch couldn’t take it anymore.

“Miga,” he said softly. And Miguel’s eyes shot up to his. Absolutely piercing gaze. Fitch would have withered under it if not from years of experience.

“Yes, enough,” Miguel snapped into the phone, “Just finish this and then we can go to that. We’ll talk later.”

And he hung up.

“Sit down,” he said, and Fitch did immediately. He didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire after he’d hesitated obeying Miguel earlier.

“What’s going on?” Fitch started, sitting close to Miguel, “Why did Jay run out of here?”

“Because I kicked him out. And he can stay out until he gets his act together.”

“Oh, fuck,” Fitch said. He let his head fall back against the sofa cushion. “Well, what does that mean? What’s going on with him and Quinn Sabian?”

Miguel sighed. He picked up a mostly empty glass from the coffee table and knocked back whatever remaining liquid there was.

Then, he turned to face Fitch. Distracted smile on closed, plum-colored lips as his thoughts spun on, some endless ferris wheel of outrageous and wide-reaching schemes.

“It’s getting late,” he said, “Let’s talk about this more in the morning. There’s nothing else we can do tonight.”

Fitch wasn’t satisfied.

“Is he going to be okay?” he pressed. He couldn’t put this aside until he got that reassurance. Jasper Montesquieu was his best friend outside of his family, suqua and metiah. He had always been there for Fitch, in some horrible, dark moments. Fitch owed him as much protection as he could possibly offer.

Miguel reached over to him and pushed back his hair, massaging his scalp a bit.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, “But it’s going to hurt an awful lot. I don’t even know how much it will. But we’ll talk about this in the morning. It’s been a long a day and you’re still jetlagged. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Hardly the most reassuring but it would suffice for now. If his friend wasn’t going to be harmed, and his metiah didn’t want to discuss it anymore, there wasn’t much else he could do.

He let Miguel pull him off the sofa, and he followed him out of his study, back into the most private part of the main house, where Miguel’s quarters were. Quarters should like sound some nonsense from a medieval castle, but it was really the only accurate way of describing Miguel’s private rooms.

Located on the highest level, at the furthest distance from the home’s entrance, it was a series of rooms that for most people would have very happily been a large family manor. A lounge, bar, kitchen, gym, another office, a few other random rooms, some private balconies, a couple bathrooms, a couple expansive closets…. It was a penthouse within a mansion on a mountain estate that would make any king envious.

Anyways, it took a while to move from one part of the house to the other, but Miguel and he stayed in a comfortable silence. Truth was, Fitch was exhausted and just happy to be back home. Even though he saw Miguel probably every couple weeks or so in New York that was nothing like back being at the Estate, together with everyone.

Especially as no one at Ridgeview University really knew who he was. Except for Sterling Xchielkla and his husband Wilmer Dylan. And while he was beginning to really enjoy their company, it just… it wasn’t home. It wasn’t that immediate and intangible feeling of belonging and comfort. 

As they arrived in Miguel’s lounge, his metiah got a phone call he needed to take, so he slinked off to his other office. Fitch stretched, fighting off a yawn. Started into his standard bedtime routine. And eventually found himself flopped on one of sofas in the lounge, in some pajama pants and sleep shirt (he kept a lot of clothes in this part of the house). 

Absently, he clicked on the news. It was the tabloid opinion reporting at this time of night – fiery pundits near frothing at the mouth with their various slants on headlines.

He began to dowse off, listening to Malcolm von Juuk ramble on about the horrors of the latest Mytarric testing scandal in Europe. Malcolm was suqua (many of Crimimiss’s prominent TV anchors and journalists were) and he belonged to a metiah called Walton Volkov. Walton owned the media conglomerate than ran this network, along with a bunch of other Crimion publications. Their political views tended to be more conservative. Like right now Malcolm claimed how atrocious the new testing policies were, and how they were riddled with delays and loopholes for the Morts to have access to proprietary Crimion data. Fitch thought it was all nonsensical – the public testing schemes were just an elaborate plot to get the metiahs in a bloodbath for data. And the crazy thing was that most metiah seemed aware of that intent, but didn’t care, as along as it benefited them.

Miguel’s views on this were very neutral and removed…because he had the luxury to be. Another perk of being in the Chancellor’s Inner Circle.

Fitch’s eyes were getting heavier, the news just some noise in the background.

Then it was quiet and he felt gentle hands on his back, his neck. Light, ticklish kisses around his ears. Touch far too soft to be Miguel. He squirmed around and settled on his back, letting the newcomer climb up between his legs, and lay on top of him, their head nestled into his chest.

Fitch started petting her lush, wavy hair, his fingers threading through the curls. He inhaled her sweet scent – something floral, tropical. 

Melissa Shamin.

Fitch loved all of his suqua, the three Shamins. But Mel and he had always been particularly close. She was the youngest of her siblings, closest in age to him, apart from his own sister Natalie. But there were some things in this crazy world that he really needed a Mytarri perspective for. And for the times when he hadn’t wanted to go to Miguel, and when he couldn’t go to Jay… Mel was always it.

She wrapped her arms tighter around his stomach, trying to burrow into him. Their conversation murmured vibrations into his ribs.

“How you doing, Fitchie sweetheart? Where did Miga run off to?”

“I’m okay… exhausted I guess. No idea where Miga went, he had a call or something.”

“Hmm… What’s going on? What did you all talk about with Jay?”

“Mel, I can’t even with that… It’s actually such a fucking disaster.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t even know… I have to sort it out more. Miga wants to wait until the morning.”

“Oh shit… that doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah… he kicked him out of the house tonight.”

“Really? He kicked Jay out?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. You’ll have to fill me in later.”

“Yeah, I will.”

There was a comfortable pause. Then slowly, reluctantly Mel peeled herself off of Fitch, moving to sit up. She yawned into her hand. Black, wavy hair all mussed. Dressed just in an oversized t-shirt that was probably one of Miguel’s.

“Gods, I’m tired, and I have to get up like at 4 in the morning. I wanted to see Miguel before I left but apparently he’s busy now. Want to come to bed?”

She got up and started walking to the bedroom. Obviously wearing nothing under the t-shirt, all toned, long caramel legs slinking off. Fitch followed her.

He’d forgotten that Mel was going to London tomorrow. Normally, if any of them (the Shamins and Fitch) had been gone for a while, the mutual consensus was that they would get Miguel to themselves at night for at least a few days. But that was superseded if someone was leaving for a stretch of time.

Fitch certainly didn’t begrudge Mel any time with Miguel. He very much enjoyed the dynamics when it was the three of them. And besides, he had a feeling Miguel was going to be all over him tomorrow.

So he crawled into Miguel’s bed, after Melissa. And turned off the lights. She curled into his side again, resting her head on his chest. And soon he felt her rhythmic breathing press against him like a purr.

Some spell of time later, there was movement. Fitch realized that Miguel had climbed into bed on the other side of Mel. And then Fitch was asleep.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was more motion. Still dreaming, he turned towards the source, squinting in the darkness.

On the other side of the mammoth bed, he thought he saw Miguel and Mel together. Miguel was on top of her, kissing her face, her neck. Then he pushed up her shirt, and was biting at her breasts, the dark nipples.

They were beautiful. They were always beautiful.

Fitch wanted to watch more but the dream changed. He was in New York. He was late, the subway wasn’t coming, he needed to find another train…

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was lighter when he woke next. And fantastically warm. He realized he was cocooned, swaddled in the sheets and duvet and another person. Arms wrapped like steel bands around his torso.

Miguel was nipping his ear, the pain soft and tugging.

“Good morning,” his metiah whispered, “Time to get up sleepyhead. We have to get you back on Crimimiss time.”

Fitch made some faint noise of protest. But Miguel was already moving, out of the bed and fuck— BRIGHT – opening the curtains.

Groggily, Fitch rolled up, rubbing his eyes, looking at the clock on the nightstand. 8am. A lot later than Miguel typically slept – he was usually up around 5:30, and practically bouncing off the walls by 7am… He must have taken some pity on Fitch travelling around the planet.

He moved to the side of the bed, eyes transfixed on the view out the massive wraparound windows. Goliath planes of glass that framed the spectacular panorama in all its glory.

The Eastern Mountains.

It was mid-November. Beginning of winter in Crimimiss. The jagged peaks all soft and dreamlike with snow. The sky, a pale, cool blue, broken only by faint curls of clouds. From this direction you could only see mountains, not the of city center of Crimimiss to the west. It was all dramatic splendid desolation, awe-inspiring vistas.

Not that New York City wasn’t incredible – of course it was, in its iconic metropolitan grandeur and grit. But it was such a stark difference to have been in the mass humanity of Manhattan three days ago and now be back in his mountaintop estate. Memories overwhelmed from exploring these peaks and ranges throughout his life. Was the snow good enough to go skiing yet?

But he was interrupted from his thoughts. Miguel was building up to his usual tempo – fast, whirlwind – and clearly wanted to get a move on. He serpentined through the bedroom, closets and bathroom with his natural dexterity, getting ready, getting dressed. And Fitch found some workout clothes put next to him on the bed.

“Let’s just go to the gym,“ Miguel was saying, “It’s too cold for the trails. But maybe we can go hiking tomorrow. Might have to bring the crampons though, for the South Ridge, just in case. We can get Tony to come. I’m not sure about the slopes yet – they still haven’t opened at Crescent. Did I tell you Wendy called me the other day about that? Still trying with the new gondola. And I’m like – how many times do I have to tell you about this access road, it’s an avalanche waiting to happen and I’m not entrusting this to your guy Julio, just because of that stupid situation in France. And every single time, with the Army Engineering Corps story and I’m just like, I am your _neighbor_. I’m not going to consult with you on every waking thought …”

And just like that, Fitch was awake. Swept up in the current that was Miguel de los Santos. Back home.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They started the day in Miguel’s private gym. There was a larger gym in the main heart of the house, where Fitch usually worked out. Sometimes with his suqua or family, sometimes with Miguel, sometimes alone, sometimes with a trainer, sometimes not. But pretty much every morning, six days a week actually was the current schedule.

Miguel was adamant about physical fitness, and he managed the exercise program for everyone he owned (i.e. the Shamins and Fitch’s family, the Delfords). Especially for the Delfords, who he was very concerned about, being Morts … just unavoidably weaker physically than Mytarri.

Fitch was on the treadmill – a brisk jog – watching Miguel bench press more than he could ever hope to lift at his absolute peak.

But to be fair, Miguel or any of his suqua had never made him feel bad about this difference in physical ability. It was what it was – an inevitable biological and genetic difference, as long as Fitch was a Mort and they were Mytarri.

One of the numerous differences between them…

Still though… Things were changing for Fitch.

Miguel had finished his set. Sat up on the bench and casually wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt. Revealing the ripped adnominal muscles underneath. Miguel wasn’t bulky or anywhere near that “Swole Life”, as all the Americans at his school joked about. He was trim but very toned. Lean musculature over a thin frame. Miguel had actually trained as a ballet dancer for over five years in Moscow – a fact not widely known at all.

He was much more likely to break into spontaneous dance, rather than punch through a table or throw a boulder or something. But the fact remained that Miguel was Mytarri, and not only Mytarri but metiah.

Metiah. Top of the apex. Proverbial alpha predator. He could easily physically overpower most other Mytarri, let alone Morts. If that ever needed to happen, it largely occurred off-stage, far away from Fitch’s or his suqua’s witness. On a rare, dark occasion though, Fitch had a seen a glimmer of it firsthand, never directed at him though. Miguel had never and would never harm him – that was frankly unimaginable and would go against the fundamental core of their entire relationship.

But still – knowing that kind of strength was there – it made you think …

Miguel had stood up now, and had fully taken off his shirt. The sweat glistened down his long back, his spine this perfect line down his torso, leading down, down to ridge of his ass. He imagined what that spot would taste like now, salty and hot under his tongue –

Fitch pulled his eyes away, a flush overtaking his face.

Lately these kind of thoughts had been more and more prevalent. Especially over the past year … especially if he hadn’t seen Miguel for a few weeks.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t been attracted to Miguel before – he had, always. But in his teenage years, it had been more of a conceptual, mental attraction that occasionally had stretched into the physical. A little older now, a the ripe age of twenty-two, he understood that it had been guided by the power dynamics.

The thrill, the anticipation, the excitement of Miguel’s dominance of him, and his submission back to him. It was intoxicating. And it grew more intoxicating everyday, as Fitch had come to terms with the fact that submitting to Miguel was something that he genuinely loved and relished, rather than some perceived obligation he felt he had to meet to live in Mytarri society – to live in Miguel’s suqua household.

That definitely hadn’t been an easy realization for him, but it was true. Even though he wasn’t Mytarri he liked – _loved, craved_ – the idea of belonging to Miguel. Of being owned by him.

But even last year… that still had been mainly mental. About their emotional relationship, their friendship.

Lately though, it had been getting more and more confused with a web of physical and sexual needs and desires. Acts that Fitch would have earlier scoffed at or plain rejected now seemed more and more appealing.

But it wasn’t as though Fitch and Miguel didn’t used to have sex. They did … it was just a lot more occasional, and usually in a threesome setting with Mel.

See, Fitch was a Mort. And while he thought he had a healthy sex drive by “regular human” standards, that paled in comparison to the hyper-sexuality of the Mytarri. Mytarri regularly, casually had sex multiple times a day, with multiple people of both genders. It was an ingrained aspect of Mytarri life, especially in the culture of Crimimiss. And while, of course, every individual had their own sexual preferences, the idea of sexual orientation, by Mort standards, was non-existent. In Crimimiss, you had sex with everyone and anyone for a variety of reasons (pleasure and love often quite low on that list).

Fitch was pretty sure that if he had been raised in America, as a regular Mort – well, he was pretty sure he would have just viewed himself as a cookie-cutter straight, cisgender man. Maybe a couple experiments with a guy here or there but largely heterosexual.

Growing up in Crimimiss, that was irrelevant. And having belonged to Miguel for most of his life, that made it even more irrelevant. Even though he had always preferred women, wanted women, it was impossible to be that way in Crimimiss… impossible especially because he belonged to Miguel.

He’d needed to learn to play the games – all the games – including all of the sexual games. It was imperative for his ability to not just live well and thrive among Mytarri, but really to even fundamentally survive.

These had been hard, excruciating lessons learned over his teenage years. Some dark experiences he didn’t like to dwell on.

But that was all largely in the past. And if one thing could be said, Miguel had never pushed Fitch into a sexual relationship with him. All of that, had happened naturally, organically and very much _occasionally_ between them.

But this past year… Especially the past three months in New York… it sometimes felt like an alien had taken over his thoughts. He found himself really, _really_ wanting Miguel. 

But that wasn’t it … he could tell something was different. He was just, well more horny. Just wanted sex more. Sex with _Mytarri_. Women _and_ men…

Fitch was pretty sure he knew what was happening. And it _terrified_ him. And it _thrilled_ him. But he was so fucking scared.

So even though he knew Miguel was aware of these changes in him… he’d said nothing. To no one.

He just … he couldn’t initiate that conversation. Not now. Not yet.

Miguel was standing in front of him.

He stepped on the side of the treadmill and craned his neck, looking down at the stats on the screen.

“Fitchie,” he said, laughing, “Where the hell are you running?”

“Oh come off it, old man. Some of us are actually trying to workout. Pretty sure I saw you taking a nap on the bench.”

“First – not even slightly old, thank you. We’re pretty much the same age, really. And second, what one perceives as a nap, is really multi-tasking. There’s tons percolating up here,” he said, touching his head.

And Fitch just rolled his eyes, and shook his head, all good natured banter.

“Anyways,” Miguel continued, “I’m going to take a shower and I have to jump on this call for CrimiComm. But find me when you’re done.”

And he was off, almost sprinting.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A little later, Fitch had emerged from a shower of his own. He was starving. He went into the small (by De Los Santos Estate standards) kitchen, and started making some eggs.

They had multiple chefs employed at the Estate, available 24/7. Mainly to feed the staff who worked on the property, but often to cook for their evening meal with suqua and Fitch’s family (though sometimes Miguel and the suqua cooked, depending on the type of day it was). For anything else though, you could request whatever you wanted, but Fitch usually preferred to cook for himself.

The omelets were starting to smell good. Fitch realized with amusement he’d just naturally made a plate for Miguel, the breakfast all in the style that he liked – grilled vegetables, mushrooms, goats cheese.

Well, even if Miguel had already eaten, he’d appreciate the gesture. And Fitch had an intuition that they were in for a _gnarly_ conversation. Maybe this would soften the blow?

But gods – when had he turned into a Stepford wife?

Pushing that thought aside, he plated everything and put it in on a tray.

Typically, by this point of the day, Miguel would have made his way to his main study, in the center of the house.

Again, Fitch suspected things were … _different_ this morning. So he first went to look for him in the smaller private office nearby.

And Fitch was correct. Miguel was there, pacing around his desk, deep in animated conversation.

He stopped and smiled when he saw Fitch enter. Smiled deeper when he saw the omelets. He abruptly ended the call, taking out his headphones and sitting at the small corner table.

“Thank you Fitchie,” he said, very sunny, grabbing a plate, and diving into the food.

“No problem.”

Fitch said down next to him, and launched into his meal too. They chatted for a bit about mindless things – some new developments at one of Miguel’s companies, CrimiComm, some issues with a realtor in California – casual, banal conversation.

But Fitch knew he shouldn’t put this off anymore.

“So…” he started, finishing the last bite of egg. He looked Miguel in the eyes. His metiah stared back, still smiling, brown eyes brightening as he watched Fitch. He leaned forward onto the tabletop, his elbows resting on the surface, expectant, attentive.

“So, yesterday,” Miguel supplied, smiling deeper, plum-colored lips tilted up, “Where do you want to start?”

Oh gods…

“I feel like this is a trick question,” Fitch said, trying not to sigh.

“Mmm… Probably true. But take a guess anyway.”

“Well… what’s going on with Jay and Quinn Sabian?”

Miguel nodded, looking thoughtful.

“Fair. But I think there’s something else we should talk about first.”

“Like?”

“Like maybe … what the fuck is going on with you and your friend?”

Well, fuck. Fitch found himself rubbing his eyes, unable to suppress this sigh. Yes, clearly this is what Miguel would want to start with.

“I – I don’t know. I guess he’s been weird lately. More than usual. It’s hard with the time zones. We’ve being talking like once a week, otherwise just texting… I guess we’ve mostly been talking about me and what’s going on in New York though.

“But yesterday, when he came over – that was the first time I heard anything about this. And I’m sure like no one else, like his family or Lyd or Marty know about this. They wouldn’t have kept it secret from me.”

Miguel made an affirmative sound.

“I think you’re right about that… Otherwise we’d have a bigger problem.”

“Yeah…so I guess he’s just been keeping this a secret. And to be honest, I don’t know why, except I guess he’s scared of how you would react. But I just don’t even… like I don’t know what he’s thinking or what he was trying to do. Like, really. I mean … I didn’t think he would try to hide something like this, hide something with another metiah, and just operate on his own.”

Miguel watched him, still smiling, a little more wistful now, eyes still bright, warm and sparking. He reached over and grabbed Fitch’s wrist. An extremely Mytarri gesture, to display love and support. Fitch was struck by how comforted he felt when Miguel did this, compared to how confused and shell-shocked he felt when Jasper had done the same last night.

“I know you didn’t, sweetheart. You love him. He’s been so good to you for years. There has been no reason to think of him as anything other than yours. Or ours. But – ” Miguel shifted his chair closer to Fitch, tightening the hold on his wrist “ – You and I have always seen your friend differently. And it’s time to look at more holistically at the type of person Jasper Montesquieu is. And unfortunately, some of the reasons that he’s been such a good friend to you, are the same reasons that are bringing us to this situation now.”

He released Fitch’s wrist. Watched him closely.

Fitch’s mind was whirling. He didn’t understand what Miguel was implying… or maybe he did…and he really didn’t like it.

“Jay loves me,” Fitch said, aware his voice was rising, “I know that and so do you. He’s not… he hasn’t… What do you think? That he’s been using me to gain some position, so he can make some kind of play with another metiah? That – It doesn’t make sense. Like, I was shocked any other metiah approached him like this _because_ he is ours. What would someone like Quinn Sabian be hoping to gain besides pissing you off?”

And here Miguel started laughing, which just irritated Fitch more. His metiah saw this and put up an open hand.

“No, Fitchie, I’m not laughing at you. I just – Quinn Sabian isn’t going to give a damn about pissing me off. That’s just inevitable. But let’s put Quinn to the side for now.

“Your friend, Jasper, yes, of course, he loves you. There is no scenario on the planet I would let him hang around you or us, if I thought otherwise. What I’m saying is you have always viewed Jay as this kind, generous guy who has this very protective streak in him. Frankly, as someone who’s very supportive of the underdogs, who wants to champion and protect them. I mean, look at his entire crew. Obviously, Lydia McGill has had a horrible childhood, and she might have actually died if Jasper hadn’t looked out for her. And Martin al Shamid, who has a much more stable family, but that family is like four seconds away from starving at any given moment. And then, you – a Mort in a Mytarri world, possibly the most vulnerable position you could be in while in Crimimiss. You think of him like this protector, this shield … maybe kind of like a hero.”

Fitch blinked. Looked straight into Miguel’s earnest eyes.

“Are you being serious with me? What are you saying? That like, my judgement is clouded with him because he’s protected me from some shit growing up? Are you aware of how outrageously hypocritical that is? How could the fact that he’s protective be a bad thing?”

Miguel smiled, one of his infuriatingly smug smirks.

“It’s absolutely not. And it’s fundamentally why I’ve tolerated him for so long, because he loves and protects you. But that’s not the whole picture with him.”

“Well, then please, enlighten me,” Fitch snapped, feeling his anger build, “I didn’t realize you had just been tolerating my best friend for years.”

He hated when Miguel was this arrogant. Like he knew more about Fitch and Fitch’s relationships than he did… Even though, he was usually – _always –_ right in his assessments.

“Of course not,” Miguel said, “I like Jasper. I actually like Jasper Montesquieu a lot. I just see him _differently_ than you.”

“How different then?” Fitch countered, “What is going on with him?”

Miguel paused. The infuriating smirk dimmed.

“I’m trying,” he said after a moment, “to say this in a kind way.”

“Well, so far you’re failing with that.”

“Fair… Okay, so Jasper, in all the ways that he is kind and protective and loving with his friends, he is also… _ambitious_. He wants the best for everyone he loves, and he wants to enable them to do and be their best. This is a fine, noble quality.

“And that same notion though – he also feels that way for himself. Of course. He wants the best for him and to be best he can be. But – let’s just say, for Jasper, this has manifested in something extreme…some intense aspiration.

“His life, you know, also hasn’t been the easiest. Lots of struggle. But he’s intelligent, ambitious, eager…Confident. Willing to work relentlessly for what he wants.

“So what is that then? What does he want? In your view, that would just be more of the same. He’s claimed a fine corner of existence as your friend. Substantial protection in that. He’s yours, then mine by proxy. Were you Mytarri, no question, he would be en route to be ours legally as dalmata. And even though you’re Mortagaia, that is essentially still the case. So then, it’s all great. A wonderful opportunity, all made possible because of your friendship. Why would that ever need to change? And as he loves you, why would he _want_ that to change?

“But the answer is, he does. Even with his love for you. I think _because_ of his love for you. You showed firsthand the tantalizing reality of our life. Of _suqua_. And Jasper – kind, generous, intelligent, ambitious, _knacky_ Jasper wants it for himself. He wants _suqua_. He wants to be _suqua_.”

Fitch just stared at Miguel. His initial indignation and anger quickly transforming to a shimmering rage.

What the fuck?

This was always the warning. The warning from the Shamins. The warning _from Miguel_. Be _careful_ with your friends. _Trust only a few_. They all want _the power_. That is what all Mytarri fundamentally want – _power_. In Crimimiss, they called this being _knacky_ , this constant and internal power-hunger.

So what was the top of the power chain? Metiah, obviously. But metiah was genetic, a birthright. It couldn’t be achieved through desire or skill.

So the next best thing? For many, that was suqua. Suqua who fundamentally and legally shared in all the power of metiah. In truth, suqua _were_ the power of metiah. There was no class of people in Crimimiss that Mytarri _loved_ more. Suqua were cherished, idolized, revered as the best of the best…

So how to become suqua? Well, obviously befriend metiah. But for most people that was impossible, so then, next best option, befriend suqua. And then use them to find a metiah who would claim you.

In reality though, the vast majority of Mytarri realized and understood these schemes were futile. The nature of the relationship between suqua and metiah couldn’t be inauthentic or contrived. It needed to be genuine and real on both sides… otherwise there could physically be no claim, no bond.

But that didn’t stop some Mytarri. Because how could you know if you could be suqua, if you’ve never met a metiah? So they would maneuver any way they could conceive to meet as many metiah as possible.

Over the years, many, many people had tried to play with Fitch as a means to get to Miguel. _That_ was inevitable.

But Jasper had always been the opposite. He was _knacky_ yes, but not _knacky_ like that.

He had _defended_ Fitch, _protected_ Fitch from these types of schemes and designs. He had always been there for Fitch, as Fitch’s friend. In the beginning, of course he had questioned Jasper, but as the years and the trust deepened, it was apparent to Fitch that Jasper loved him… wanted, as Miguel had said, _the best for him and for him to be the best could he be._ And because of that love, that loyalty, that trust, Fitch had slowly, slowly _confided_ in him. And Jay had kept his secrets and gained more of his trust.

So, in return, Fitch had brought him into his world. His world with metiah and suqua. And all the protection and support and _privilege_ and _power_ that came with that.

But he had brought Jasper into this world _for himself. As his._ Not as means to find something else, something outside of Fitch.

And he had thought – he had _known_ – that Jasper understood that. That Jasper _wanted_ that. Jasper loved him. In ways that went beyond friendship, even by Mytarri standards, who loved to blur lines between platonic affection and fundamental romance.

Yes, if there had been any possibility – _any_ – Fitch knew that Jasper wanted to be his _lover_.

But that wasn’t possible, for so, so, so many reasons. 

Fitch could only give what he could give. He never promised or implied anything else. And Jasper knew that, understand that….

So the fact that Miguel was so casually, so matter-of-fact, saying that Jasper wanted to be suqua? If that was true… like if that was seriously Jasper’s intent… it changed everything. If that was true … it implied a level of manipulation in Jasper that Fitch couldn’t even fathom.

There was a huge difference in Jasper wanting to be his and him _wanting to be anyone’s_ …

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Fitch eventually managed. “Jasper doesn’t want to be suqua.”

Miguel just stared at him. Then sighed. The smile had fallen off his face, replaced with an expression Fitch rarely saw on his metiah – _regret_.

“Fitch,” Miguel started, speaking clear and calm, though it seemed in pain, “Jasper definitely does. He is one of the _knackiest_ people I have ever encountered in my life, and I don’t say that lightly.

“But he also loves you fiercely. And he would never do anything to harm you. And as long as that was his primary motivation, I was more than happy for you to have an extremely intelligent, extremely _knacky_ best friend. I like _knacky_. I like that he is driven, ambitious and determined to overcome every conceivable obstacle to get what he wants. He’s a fighter, a real fighter, and you deserve the kind of devotion people like that can give.”

Fitch felt like everything had gone quiet. Silence before the gunshot. Something not right here. There was something he was clearly missing.

“How can you know this?” he heard himself say, “How can you be so certain of this? Because Quinn Sabian approached him?”

“No,” Miguel said, “Because Jasper offered himself to me.”

A bomb exploded.

For a moment, all Fitch saw was white. It seemed like every synapse in his brain had ignited at once.

“What? WHAT? What?”

He realized he was standing up, pacing around the room. This was usually Miguel’s move, and Fitch would be one the calming him, trying to bring him back from whatever manic fervor had overtaken him.

Miguel remained sitting, tracking Fitch’s movements with his eyes. Infuriatingly, a small smile was creeping back on his face.

“How can – When? How? WHAT?”

“It was two years ago,” Miguel said, eyes sparking again as he recalled the memory, “In the summer. When you were in Switzerland. He came to the Estate.”

Fitch stopped moving. His arms flopped down to his side, as his brain, his stupid, traitorous brain began to reconcile this with reality.

“No… Yes…” he said, in a smaller, less hysterical voice, “Yes, I remember. He told me that. He was going to come get something of mine, that camera, for some reason.”

“Yes,” Miguel continued, “And I was here then. Everyone else had gone out for the day. And young Jasper Montesquieu came and found me…”

“What did he say? What did he say to you?”

Miguel gave Fitch a very pointed look.

“Fitch… do you _really_ want to know that? _Really_?”

Fuck, no, of course he didn’t. He _really wanted_ for that to have never happened. Fucking hell…how could…Jasper had gone to Miguel…And didn’t even _tell_ him?

But they were here now, might as well just throw himself off this cliff for good measure.

“Just give me the synopsis.”

Miguel exhaled.

“He said he loved you. He said he wanted to be there for you, always. But he said he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t ask me. He was a mess of teenage angst but extremely impassioned. More than anyone else who has approached me like that. But to be fair, he had more of a right than most. It didn’t matter though.”

“What did you do?” Fitch asked, even though he knew this answer. He just needed this nightmare to be over.

Miguel stared back flatly. Arched a brow.

“What do you think I did? I shut it down. And I tried to be as kind as possible.”

_Yeah right._ That ridiculous comment helped break the mounting rage.

“Well, that’s obviously bullshit. You would not have been kind.”

If Fitch was being honest, he knew Miguel would have been _excruciatingly cruel_. And a part of himself, a vengeful, vicious part he largely ignored, was glad about that. It would have fucking served Jay right…

“Well, that’s true, ” Miguel said, not even bothering to hide the smile, “I’m just trying to make you feel better. Is it working?”

“Oh gods, you crazy Mytarri, no. No, it’s not making me feel better that my best friend went behind my back and asked you to claim him. I’m just so… When were you ever going to tell me about this?”

“Mmm, when something like this happened,” his metiah said, completely unapologetic.

“Don’t you think I had a right to know?”

“No. Of course not. Fitch, it was between him and me. And I know you don’t want to sweetheart, but… you can understand it, right? Why he would do that? Why he did that?”

Miguel had stood up. Imploring eyes bearing into him.

Fitch felt the indignation and anger giving way. Giving way to the real substance here – a sharp, bright immediate despair.

This was just another instance in a long, long parade of instances. Another harsh, irreparable blow to his pre-conceived notions. To his youth. His naivety.

Fuck this. How could he have been such an idiot?

He loved Jasper, and Jasper loved him. And that wasn’t enough… that would never be enough…

And now things would never be the same …

He realized he was crying. Stupid, useless tears.

“Sweetheart,” Miguel said. He wrapped him in his arms, embrace tight, complete and grounding.

His metiah guided them back to the sofa, just letting him cry and holding him. As he had always done for Fitch when things got like this … as he would always do…

And Fitch started crying even harder. Because that was the crux of it.

He had this. He had this life. He had _Miguel_.

It was all going to be okay for Fitch. Yes, of course, it was.

But Jasper didn’t have this.

Could Fitch really fundamentally blame him for wanting this? No, of course not. But fuck, this hurt…

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eventually, Fitch stopped crying. He was still wrapped in Miguel, his head tucked under Miguel’s chin, mostly laying on top of him. Miguel kept stroking up and down his back in long, even brushes.

He kissed the top of Fitch’s hair, his forehead, his cheek.

“Are you feeling better?” Miguel asked.

Fitch propped himself up a little, angling so he could look Miguel in the eye.

“I can’t believe you fucking had that in your pocket.”

Miguel smiled up at him, one of his more typical, careless sunny grins.

“I know. But that’s what I do.”

“Still, I think you should have told me.”

Miguel moved so he was sitting up. And with some of that uncanny physical strength, he dragged Fitch easily into his lap.

“No,” Miguel repeated, “It was between Jasper and I. And it was something I don’t think you would have understood two years ago. It’s difficult to conceive of, when you’re not branded. Everything changes with the amma.

“And I didn’t want you to throw away the friendship over this and regretted it later on. You would have resented that much more deeply. And worse, by then it might not have been possible to repair things with Jasper. Now you don’t need to.”

Fitch blinked at him, disbelieving.

“You still expect me to be good with him after this? Why? He’s lied to me, kept this from me… ”

“I told him not to tell you.”

Fitch sighed. He shifted on Miguel’s lap, brought his arm around his side, leaning into him more.

“I realized that,” Fitch said, quieter, “But it’s a still a betrayal. He betrayed my trust. Used me for you. I mean… I _do_ understand. Well, maybe not fully. But I can understand enough… enough to forgive him. But trust? How can I trust him again after knowing this?”

“Oh, that’s very simple, actually.” Miguel wrapped an arm over his shoulders. He was smiling, brown eyes sparking again. “You don’t need to trust him. Not like before. Not ever like before. It will be impossible now, anyways.”

“What? What are you talking about, you crazy Mytarri. You’re exhausting me.”

Miguel just laughed. He leaned into Fitch’s ear.

“Quinn Sabian,” he whispered, “What do you think he’s doing?”

And then it clicked.

The proverbial puzzle snapped into place, the picture perfectly clear.

Oh fuck.

Oh holy fuck.

Oh fucking holy fuck.

But before he could speak, an absurd thing happened.

Miguel’s phone had been sitting on the coffee table in front of them. It suddenly buzzed. The name “Jasper Montesquieu” illuminated on it.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Fitch whispered, shell-shocked.

There was no way Jasper would call Miguel so soon after what went down yesterday. Right?

But Miguel was all smiles, his grin expanding to something almost demonic.

He winked at Fitch, and picked up the phone, putting it on speaker. 

“Hello?” He said, voice all mock-innocent.

“Miguel de los Santos.”

A deep, rich baritone voice that oozed into the air.

Miguel’s grin was positively insane. He looked over at Fitch and gestured a zipper over his lips. Holy shit. What had Miguel done?

“Quinn Sabian,” Miguel replied, “How the fuck are you doing?”


	5. Don't Forget Where the Story Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jasper can't catch a break...

“Now after all these years  
you are at last opening.  
Was it worth all that war just to win?  
So caught up in the speed and the weight of your sin,  
don't forget how the story begins.

Now I'm seeing all your lovers and enemies,  
they've been turning their keys, so full of greed.  
All trying to see that jewel you keep –  
what makes it shine, what makes it mine.  
Well, I don’t care.  
Come on down, open wide.  
Open up now.  
Don’t you think it’s time?”

-Patrick Wolf, “Overture”

_Jasper_

Quinn Sabian stared at him from the driver’s seat of the pickup. His deep brown eyes piercing into him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jasper hissed.

This was insane. Quinn was literally stalking him.

But why wasn’t he surprised _at all_?

“Get the fuck in,” Quinn countered.

The tone was hard, sharp. But in his eyes… an intense urgency…something pleading, something _real_.

Oh fuck it all. Even though he knew he was inviting absolute maximum levels of complications, he couldn’t bring himself to resist this. He was already hurting, already reeling … might as well just play this all the way to a full, utter fuck-up

Plus it was freezing out here. And he was exposed, walking on this deserted stretch of road by the Eastern Mountains. Yes… there were definitely some rational reasons to get in this car with this strange metiah in the middle of the night. 

“Fine,” he gritted out. He let himself into the passenger side, and they were off. Window rolled up, speeding away…Jasper being literally driven to new realms of insanity.

Quinn looked tense besides him. Brow scrunched, leaning towards the steering wheel, wild blonde hair tied back in some haphazard bun. His brown eyes were narrowed, intent on some unknown destination in the distance.

“What are you doing out here?” Jasper asked eventually, “And how did you know where I was?”

He only partially cared about the answer, but he needed a distraction, something, anything to keep away the tsunami threatening to drown his mind … Fuck… Miguel…Fitch… Fuck, no, he couldn’t process that yet…

Quinn shot him a hard look. Then back at the road.

“I went by CIT. You weren’t there but your advisor, that Carson guy, was. He said one of Miguel’s drivers picked up you.”

Fucking Carson. But no time to dwell on that man’s stupidity.

“So you just decided to come out here and look for me?”

Quinn didn’t look at him, but Jasper saw one of the corners of his mouth lift. A small, half-smile.

“What happened tonight?” he said, not answering the question.

“Fuck off, Quinn.” Jasper turned away from the metiah, looking out the window, at the dark winter night. “It’s really none of your business.”

“Well, that’s definitely bullshit.”

“Just, can we not? Not now… I don’t even…I don’t even know… Everything is so fucked.”

“Fine,” Quinn said, “We can wait.”

A silence after that. It should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t.

Jasper kept slumped towards the window, his eyes glazed over, staring out at nothing. The same thoughts looped, relentless, in his mind.

Miguel was angry. Angry he hadn’t told him about this. Angry he hadn’t told Fitch… Oh, Fitch… What was going to happen now? What was Miguel going to _say_ to Fitch?

His stomach twisted with the brewing worries.

And then, what had Miguel said at the end… _“You can come back when you come correctly.”_ What the fuck could be correct in this horrible situation? How could he fix this? _Could he fix this?_

It was like running into a brick wall. No good options.

Miguel…

Miguel _knew_. Of course, Miguel _knew_.

Miguel _knew_ that Jasper wanted this. Wanted to play this game with Quinn. That while he definitely hadn’t invited this game, he’d done nothing to stop it – _(He’d encouraged it)_ – And now…Now what?

Continue on?

Or stop it and beg for forgiveness?

Well…too late, of course. This fucker in the driver’s seat hadn’t even given him a moment to think about it…

Jasper had just climbed into his car minutes after Miguel kicked him out of the Estate.

Oh, he was so, so fucked…

It was really dark outside.

Jasper jolted out of his melancholy.

“Where are we? Where are we going?”

Quinn looked over at him. He seemed to be relaxing the further they drove. More like his usual languid, mellow vibe.

“I’m kidnapping you,” he said, “Do you have a problem with that?”

Well… Jasper hadn’t wanted to go home. He couldn’t handle being around his family like this yet…

But the surroundings were… weird. Unexpected.

In a small part of his brain, the part he was trying to ignore, he thought Quinn might have been taking him to his house…or maybe back to the university…

Not…not whenever this was…

They must have driven some backroad route away from the Eastern mountains. Now they were near the city… kind of …

Jasper wasn’t even sure what this neighborhood was called. They were past one of the city’s main power plants, in some derelict, industrial zone.

A bunch of boarded up buildings, vacant lots. The only cars on the street were abandoned curbside, some rusted out, some wheels gone.

And Jasper was very aware that no one was around. No lights. No other traffic. Just the sound of their tires rumbling along through this desolate neighborhood.

 _Kidnapping_ was a traditional game in Mytarri culture. And probably one of their favorite games.

Of course, there were countless variations depending on the nature of the scheme or design of those involved. But in general, if someone was _kidnapped_ , they were treated as a _guest_ and _would not be harmed._

Jasper had been kidnapped before, and had also kidnapped his fair share of captives growing up. But those had all been harmless, high school schemes with his classmates. Never for anything with _real_ stakes…

And being in this area, desolate and abandoned and _unknown_ , just hammered home how extreme these stakes were…

He had literally gone off with metiah he knew almost _nothing_ about. And now he was in a setting perfect for murder.

All because of some… _feeling_. Some _intuition_ he didn’t even want to name to himself.

How spectacularly was he going to fuck up tonight?

“Well,” he said slowly, testing out the words, “I guess that depends… Am I going to leave here breathing and in one piece?”

Quinn made an abrupt turn.

The truck teetered through an open gate in a chain link fence. Mass tangles of barbed wire lined the perimeter. In the headlights ahead Jasper could see towering piles of gears, machinery, car parts, tires, glass, smashed appliances … 

Quinn maneuvered them through the scraps and debris. They seemed to drive for miles before finally coming to a structure that looked like some bombed out remains from a nuclear war. All windows smashed in, concrete walls cracked and crumbling, the corrugated roof rusted and dotted with holes.

Quinn slammed the car into park. Killed the engine and the headlights.

He turned back to Jasper. His brown eyes lasered onto him.

Then he smiled, kind and warm.

It was the kind of smile that caused some weird spasm in his chest. Made it almost impossible to breathe.

“Do you want to go home?” He asked. His tone was calm, measured. A marked difference from when he’d picked up him below the De Los Santos Estate.

Jasper glanced out at the horror movie set in front of them. Every rational and logical part of his brain seemed to have stopped working.

By any standards, he should have dashed out of car and ran as far and fast as he could from there.

But no…no, he was going to stay and see this, _whatever this was_ , through.

He’d passed the point of no return as soon as he’d gotten into the vehicle.

So he shook his head. Unclipped his seatbelt. Opened the door into the frigid night air and stepped out.

Quinn followed suit. Out of the car, towards the dilapidated building, to a battered, rolling door.

“What is this place?” Jasper said, rubbing his bare hands together, his breath white and visible in dark, cold air.

Quinn predictably didn’t answer. He gave the door a couple sharp tugs, and it creaked back on the rollers, a sharp, groaning sound.

He gestured for Jasper to step inside, and though the tension was beginning to mount again, he forced himself forward.

The space inside was foul. Water pooled on the concrete floor from all the holes in the roof, which also provided enough moonlight to see the interior clearly. Some rusted over car parts and other machinery in haphazard heaps on the ground, piles of reddish metal in sharp, harsh angles. Abandoned tools, a couple tables flipped over, random boots and soaking papers littered the floor.

Jasper saw rats scurrying in the corner.

It smelled like rot.

“This way,” Quinn said, startling him out of his observation.

They tramped over the debris to the far side of the space. A gate and a set of horizontal steel doors…

It was an elevator.

And besides the door, something very out of place in this squalor… A modern touchscreen system… and a hand-scan.

Quinn put his hand on the scan, and punched something into the screen. 

The gate lifted and steel doors parted with a well-oiled slide.

A clean elevator car revealed.

“After you,” Quinn said, gesturing in.

Oh fuck. Where were they going? Where was _this_ going?

His earlier convictions were quickly fading. The heart rate ratcheted up again.

But he could hardly run now.

So out of any better options, Jasper stepped into the elevator.

Quinn followed. There was another hand-scan and touchscreen up inside the car. He operated both in the same way, and the elevator doors closed.

And down they went.

To Jasper’s immense relief they didn’t go too far.

A few seconds later, the doors binged open and they were in a new strange space. Some cavernous concentrate tunnel.

It looked like it might have been a sewer at some point, but now the space was dry, clean. Electric ambient lights illuminated down the vast corridor.

Almost in a trance, Jasper found himself walking out of the elevator, Quinn to his side.

“What is this?” Jasper managed, craning his head to look at Quinn, “Is this your bomb shelter? Apocalypse bunker?”

Quinn smiled again, the gesture animating and brightening his face.

“Something like that,” he said, infuriatingly vague, “Come on – It’s a bit of walk.”

And off they went, footstep resounding in the subterranean tunnel.

The air felt very…sterile down here. Filtered. Ventilated. But a lot better than the rot in the warehouse above them.

A million questions rain through Jasper’s head, but instinctively he knew Quinn wouldn’t answer most. So he spent the quiet of the walk observing, processing the implications of this place.

The main point he kept circling back to – This was clearly somewhere _to hide_. To be _away_ from people. Somewhere _secret_.

Had Jasper drastically miscalculated this situation?

Was he going to be _imprisoned_ down here?

No one knew where he was …

Real panic rose. But they were… well, at the end of the road, so to speak. The end of the tunnel.

A couple doors here, each with another touchscreen and hand-scan. Quinn processed the codes one of the doors. This was all extensive security by Mytarri standards. All again indicating this was a place not meant to be accessible.

The new door opened. 

It was… an apartment.

Like, an apartment to _live_ in.

Clean, pale wooden floor. An open plan design with a modern kitchen complete with slick, ebony countertops and swanky appliances. A few comfortable looking sofas and lounge chairs by a large television screen. Comforting art on the walls, all earth and water tones in swirled, abstract designs. Bookcase crammed with books, many with worn, peeling covers. Books everywhere actually, scattered on tables and countertops.

Jasper spotted a desk in the corner. Three monitors hooked up to hefty computer processor. A couple keyboards, but the rest of the surface covered in books and handwritten notes.

Beyond this main living space, there were a couple other doors, but it was clear there was the central area.

It wasn’t large, but it felt comfortable, cozy… lived in. Almost Scandinavian. _Hygge_ like the Danish said. The air felt better here too, fresher. And even though there were no windows, the recessed lighting along the ceiling felt warm, authentic.

Jasper was aware that door behind him closed.

And he heard the telltale _click_ when the security lock engaged.

 _Locked in_.

Again, _very, very unusual_ for Mytarri who normally _never_ had any locks into the entrance of their home. Though technically, if the derelict building above was considered the entrance, that had definitely been unlocked. _Wide open_ in classic Mytarri style. An inviting _trap_.

So… it seemed like he might be properly _kidnapped_ down here.

He guessed there were worse places…

Quinn moved to his side. He slipped off his shoes, and had wandered towards the kitchen, in well practiced, reflexive motions. He opened the fridge, the shelves inside well-stocked.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked, “I have some lemonade, juice, soda… I can make some tea if you want?”

“Sure…” Jasper said absently, slowing turning to face the man. This strange man…who was putting on a kettle, picking out tea from some cannisters on the counter, like this was the most normal of normal evenings in an underground apartment-bunker.

What the fuck was this?

“Do you live here?” Jasper blurted out, “Are you living here now?”

Quinn looked over at him. Jasper took him in. Lanky, long limbs covered in an oversized grey sweatshirt, fabric frayed at the elbows. Baggy denim trousers. Scruffy, darkish 5 o’clock shadow covering his chin. Dirty blonde hair carelessly tied back in a bun. He looked like some kind of eccentric creative type, someone who would happily live as a subterranean recluse.

Except, rationally, Jasper knew that _couldn’t_ be true. Quinn was metiah, which meant he had suqua – _responsibilities_ to others… And hadn’t the contact information he’d entered in Jasper’s phone said he lived in _Lethusken_? Which was a very affluent town about an hour out of the city center of Crimimiss…

He remembered something Fitch had said to him a while ago. Fitch said metiah loved to wear _costumes_. Some deliberate dress to play whatever part they wanted… Like how Miguel liked to dress like some bookish academic…

Quinn’s smile deepened, like he knew Jasper’s thoughts.

“Sure,” he said, replying to his question, “Sometimes I live here. I like the quiet. Are you hungry at all? I can make something… I have some really good ravioli, pumpkin and squash with truffle oil.”

“No, thank you.”

He couldn’t eat anything now.

The comfort of this pleasant dwelling had quickly waned. The events of the evening catching up to him, demanding his attention. All that combined with the current, almost unfathomable level of strangeness. The locked door. Quinn’s polite hospitality.

Fuck, he was really kidnapped, wasn’t he?

“Well, you want to sit down? I’ll bring the tea.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

A little later, Jasper found himself settled on a ridiculously comfortable sofa. Shoes off, socked feet on faux fur rug. Warm mug of herbal tea in his hand.

He took a sip of the soothing, rich liquid, eyeing the man on the other end of the cushions.

Quinn was seated, fully turned towards him. Casual. Comfortable. Long limbs all languid with a mug of tea and a half-smile on his lips.

Like they were friends, going to gossip.

Jasper was still reeling from the conversation with Miguel. He wasn’t sure had the energy left to handle however intense this conversation would be.

“So,” Quinn said, voice this rich, baritone burr, conversational but compelling, “What happened at the De Los Santos Estate?”

Oh yeah… there was no way this was going to end well. But again, he’d already made his decision here. Playing this half-hearted would only lead to more hurt.

No… if he was going to do this…he might as well as _do_ this.

In any other context, he would never talk about Fitch (or anything remotely _involving_ Fitch) to anyone that was not a friend of theirs. A _real_ friend. Someone to be _trusted_. This was an ingrained, elemental component of Mytarri loyalty. You respected those you loved by only discussing them with those you loved. Anything else was sacrilegious.

So to talk about what had transpired tonight with Quinn –an _outsider_. It was an extreme risk. If Quinn couldn’t be trusted…then Jasper would be betraying his friend. Especially because Quinn was metiah. Quinn had _power_ and could do real _harm_ with specific information. And even though, Jasper only planned to tell Quinn what he deemed absolutely essential… it could all still be catastrophic.

But here he was. Locked in an underground bunker with this strange man. Because he had a _feeling_ …

“I told Fitch and Miguel that I’d been talking to you,” Jasper said, forcing himself to speak slowly, calmly, _neutrally_ , “Then Miguel kicked me out of the Estate. And I’m sure I won’t be able to talk with Fitch until this has been _resolved_.”

Quinn took a long drink of tea. His eyes illuminated, pupils dilated and smile deepening. Jasper could feel his attention on him like some spotlight – bright, burning heat. He felt the skin on his face flush, suddenly very hot.

“Well,” Quinn said at length, “You waited a very long time. So why now? Why tell them anything? Why not just _wait_ for them to figure it out on their own?”

He could feel the flush spread over his face, enflaming his cheeks. From anger, shame, or some potent mix, he didn’t know. But _fuck_ this.

“I couldn’t do that to Fitch,” he hissed, “I wouldn’t. He deserved to know, and to hear it from me.”

Quinn’s eyebrows raised. His smile, all smooth, peachy lips, widened.

“So you love him?” He posed it as question.

Jasper glared back.

“I already told you he is one of my _real_ friends. Yes, I love him.”

“He’s a mort.”

That sentence triggered a bomb inside Jasper. So many fucking times had he heard that sentence. It _infuriated_ him. Normally, he’d try to have a somewhat rational conversation with the ignorant asshole talking to him, but he had no patience for that now.

He let the rage consume. Emotions pent up from this terrible, long day so happy, so desperate for an outlet.

So Jasper exploded.

“Fuck you, Quinn Sabian!” he snarled. He stood up, slamming his mug on the coffee table, hot liquid spilling everywhere, “You don’t know fucking shit about any of this! You don’t have any fucking idea what we’ve all been through and you have no fucking right to dismiss him in any way. You don’t get to just waltz in and –”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Quinn had stood up and grabbed his shoulder. Grabbed his chin in a hard grip and forced Jasper to look up at him. “I’m not dismissing anyone or anything. I was just stating a fact.”

“Your facts are wrong and you’re an idiot.”

“Well, I think one of those things at least is false.”

Jasper twisted out of his grip, and stormed away, rounding behind the sofa.

“You’re an idiot,” Jasper repeated, eyes lasering into Quinn’s from a distance, “You haven’t a fucking clue. You thought it was all fine to play with me because Fitch isn’t Mytarri. Because Fitch isn’t Miguel’s suqua. Because you thought there might be ambiguity there. But let me be clear, there is no ambiguity. No confusion. I love Fitch as Mytarri. Everyone who loves Fitch, loves him as Mytarri. And If you think that love is less than or weaker because Fitch is actually Mortagaia, than you’re not only an idiot, but you’re delusional.”

Silence for a moment. 

Jasper could just hear his own breathing, struggling and jagged through his nose, as he glared at Quinn with all the intensity he could muster.

How Quinn _responded_ to this was _crucial_. Jasper had risked so, so much already. He refused to take another step further down whatever strange subterranean path lay before them without making it perfectly clear where he drew his lines. Without making it clear he didn’t tolerate any _ignorant_ bullshit about his friend.

Quinn was observing him. His brown eyes seemed almost amber, alight with synapses firing around his brain.

And when he finally spoke, it was the last two words Jasper expected to hear.

“You’re lying,” Quinn said.

The fuck?

“Excuse me? I’m _lying_?”

“You don’t love Fitch as Mytarri.”

“You absolute asshole –”

Quinn cut him off, his words _searing_.

“If you loved Fitch as Mytarri, you wouldn’t have waited months to tell him about me. You would have told him immediately. And let me be _extremely clear_. I don’t think your love of him is less than or weaker in any way because he is Mortagaia. But you’re lying and _delusional_ if you don’t recognize that it’s different.

“If you loved him as Mytarri, you would have told him immediately after I first approached you. But you didn’t… and you didn’t because you knew, deep down, that he _wouldn’t_ understand. And worst of all, you knew if you told him immediately, you would have needed to _lie_ to him. So instead, you waited weeks upon weeks, until you knew that Miguel would be so _incensed_ that he would do all the dirty work for you.

Jasper couldn’t respond. The molten rage hardened in some suffocating, heavy pressure. His tongue felt swollen, _useless_.

“Exactly,” Quinn continued, “You waited months so _Miguel_ would have no choice but to tell your friend was happening here. You waited so that you wouldn’t have to explain to your friend, who you genuinely _love_ , why you had hurt him and why you were going to _continue_ to hurt him. Because he is a mort, and you knew he wouldn’t _understand_.”

Despite his best efforts, Miguel’s earlier words came back to Jasper, as biting and piercing in his mind, as when he’d heard them out loud: _“If you had to come to me correct… I would have helped you with this.”_

Had he made some horrible mistake in this? Should he have told them earlier?

He felt some wetness forming in his eyes, but quickly blinked it back. Now was not the time to fall apart. He couldn’t change what he had already done. He had to deal with this slippery metiah in front of him now.

Jasper knew these games. ( _Loved these games)_. The sly and pretty words meant to circle and distract until he was _engulfed_.

Oh yes, Quinn was going to need to be a lot more _clever_ than this…

He realized that Quinn had walked closer to him, rounding the sofa to his side. They were almost touching now. His hands, large, weathered and calloused from some physical work, so near his arm.

He could smell him. This heady mixture of something sharp, tangy, like sweat, and petrol and some distinctly masculine spice.

“You don’t know Fitch,” Jasper said, in a tone much softer than he’d intended, “You don’t know have any concept of what he would or wouldn’t understand. And you don’t know Miguel. You’ve told me that yourself. And you definitely don’t _know_ me. You don’t know my past or my relationships or what I need to do to protect the people I love. You’re just a stranger. A stranger who has caused me nothing but trouble.”

Quinn was in front of Jasper now. His eyes burned into his, amber orbs almost melting with intensity.

“And what if I wanted to cause you a lot more trouble?” His voice was fire on this freezing winter night – hot, visceral and inviting. “What if I told you that I wanted to turn your entire world over?”

“I’d say you’re an insane, delusional idiot if you think I would invite more of this chaos into my life.”

Quinn just smiled. A deep, knowing grin that seemed to seep into Jasper’s pores, like some all-consuming element.

The unasked question saturated the space between them like lightening – brilliant, powerful but somehow silent: _Then why are you here?_

Without another thought, Jasper realized he was moving. Quinn was moving.

They crashed together, two currents converged.

Jasper’s arms wrapped up, linking around Quinn’s neck, pulling him down to him. Their lips met, fierce and fighting, slotted together with gorgeous friction and heat.

Quinn bit on his lips hard. Startling. Delicious.

And Jasper parted and let in that demanding, insistent tongue. Sharp suction, pulling and consuming. He could barely breathe.

And then pressure around his waist. Hands roaming, exploring, capturing.

Quinn pulled on Jasper’s ass, his thigh and hitched a leg up, wrapping the limb around him. And then the other. He’d been lifted. Quinn was carrying him, Jasper’s legs locked behind him, their bodies flush, his hands like steel around him.

Then the angle shifted. He was on his back, under Quinn.

Amazing, fantastic, perfect weight. Quinn’s long body covered his entirely. Overwhelming.

They kept kissing, if that could even be the right word. More like consuming each other. Quinn kept prying deeper in his mouth, exploring every corner, curve, crevice. Their tongues rubbed against each other, Quinn nipping his lips anytime Jasper pushed back on his relentless roving. 

His legs were still wrapped around Quinn, socked ankles crossed around his back, keeping the man pressed into himself. His arousal spiked, his cock lengthening, trapped under clothes, being rubbed, dragged against the bulge in Quinn’s jeans, his muscled stomach.

Jasper’s hands seemed possessed. He rubbed the hard planes of his Quinn’s back, his scalp, into the silky, gorgeous hair. His hands tangled in, loving the fine, soft texture. And suddenly he’d unwound Quinn’s tie, and the blonde waves fell free, like water through his fingers.

Quinn twisted off Jasper’s mouth, and grabbing his roaming hands, pining them on either side of his head. Hands clasped around his wrists like restraints.

Jasper shuddered, some strangled, small sound escaped his mouth. Drowning in the sensation of the control, of being pinned down.

And Quinn began kissing the side of his face, travelling lower and lower to his neck, sucking and tasting and – FUCK.

Quinn bit into the skin. Sharp, powerful sensation that momentarily blinded him. He yelped, rolling and squirming in Quinn’s grip, impossibly strong. Trying to find anchor, some grounding in this overwhelmed feeling.

And Quinn bit his neck again. Burning. Some maddening tension that shocked through his body, pooling into his cock, growing harder and harder during this onslaught.

Another bite. At the junction of his neck and shoulder. Some crazy words punctuated the sounds of their bodies together.

_“Fuck, yes –Please, please, please –“_

What the fuck was he saying? _Begging_ for?

No coherence. Just delicious warmth and friction of Quinn’s body against his, his tongue laving on his hot, flushed skin, tasting, soothing.

And then there was movement. Substantial change.

Quinn released his wrists, and rolled them to their sides. Facing each other.

He looked wild, undone. Blonde locks a whirlwind around his face. Pupils blown out like blackholes. Peach lips slick and swollen.

But he’d gone still. Stopped moving against Jasper.

He took one of Jasper’s arms, and kissed his wrist. Rubbed the marks he’d made with his grip.

And he smiled, soft, almost bewildered.

“I think you’re right, Jasper Montesquieu,” he said, tone lush and low, “This is chaos.”

“Yes – chaos,” Jasper agreed, amazed how raw and undone his voice sounded, “But why did you stop?”

A flash of concern in Quinn’s bright brown eyes. He reached out, lightly grazing Jasper’s neck with his fingertips.

“I didn’t mean to do that…” he said, “Not now. Are you alright?”

“More than alright,” Jasper hissed, the arousal and adrenaline still coursing through him, “Come here.”

He reached to pull Quinn back to him, but the metiah grabbed his wrists again, the grip firm and unyielding. He moved their hands down from their faces, back to Jasper’s side.

“We should pump the brakes,” he said, the concern still in his eyes, “And anyways, it’s been a long day. I’m exhausted, you’re exhausted, we’re not thinking clearly … Come on.”

He started to move, pulling Jasper with him. Jasper ripped his hands out of Quinn’s grip, and sat back on the sofa with crossed arms, and a scowl. Well aware he was sulking but feeling too raw and unmoored to care.

Quinn had stood up. He looked down at Jasper, and Jasper looked up at him. This unfairly gorgeous person, blonde hair free and haphazard, clothes rumpled, red marks on his neck from Jasper’s hands.

Quinn bent down, leaning into Jasper’s face. And kissed him, soft and sweet and brimming with radiant warmth.

“Come on, babe,” he said, “Let me show you around.”

And only because he seemed so sincere, did Jasper take his offered hand, and let him pull him to his feet.

Quinn showed him to a bedroom off the kitchen. It was cluttered, messy. Filled with boxes and more piles of books and random lamps and other furniture and for some reason, a variety of computer drives and monitors, all in various heaps in corners. There was a good-sized bed in the center, but it was currently covered with piles of clothes, towels, other laundry.

This was clearly a spare room, a guest room…and clearly Quinn didn’t have guests here often.

Quinn was hastily removing the clothing piles from the bed, throwing everything into a nearby basket.

“Sorry it’s such a mess,” he said, with a sheepish smile, “But it’s comfortable in here. And everything is clean, so feel free to just use anything, clothes, towels, whatever you want. And there’s the bathroom here –“

He showed him the small en-suite. Clean, functional, fully stocked.

Jasper wandered over to the bed, sitting down, observing the setting in kind of daze. He realized how tired he was. The highs and lows of this insane, emotional day had left him a scattered, worn out shell.

“And that’s really everything. So yeah, just use whatever you want. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen too. And if you need anything else, just let me know.”

“And where will you be?”

“My room,” Quinn said, with an easy grin, “Just over there.” He pointed somewhere vaguely across the main living area.

Jasper smiled up at him. This whole situation was insane. His life was in utter, fucked up disarray. He was in some underground bunker, gods only knew where. He was hurt, angry, scared and now so horny. Fuck it all.

“You could stay,” Jasper said. He leaned back on his hands, arched his neck up, and bit inside of his lip.

Quinn’s grin deepened. And he rushed forward, grabbing around Jasper’s jawline, and kissed him. Searing, toe-curling force.

But as abruptly as it started, it ended.

The metiah pulled away, eyes _gleaming_.

“Goodnight Jasper Montesquieu,” he said.

“You are extremely frustrating,” Jasper growled out. And Quinn responded by walking away and shutting the door behind him.

Fantastic.

He shrugged out of his clothes. Switched off the lights. And climbed completely nude into the bed. He usually slept naked, and saw no reason to change that for this absurd scenario.

And without any other coherent thought, he let his hand travel down and grab hold of his half-hard cock. A parade of nonsensical images flooded his mind. Fitch gaping at him in bewilderment. Miguel glaring at him. Quinn…His hands around his thighs, his ass, his wrists…Biting at his lips, his neck…pressing him, holding him down…

And he worked himself to a shuddering, jolting climax.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quiet. Calm. Warm. Dark.

Jasper opened his eyes.

For a second there was blissful ignorance.

Then the memories rushed back.

He bolted upright. A panic coursed through him as the events of yesterday played back.

He needed… He needed… He needed to figure a lot of shit out apparently because his mind was drawing some pretty egregious blanks.

But no… no… he knew what was happening. Theoretically. Yes, he was underground, in some weird subterranean apartment under a scrapyard in the middle of nowhere.

And he was here because… there had been nowhere better to go. Because he had majorly screwed up everything with Fitch and Miguel yesterday.

And now he was in wild, rolling limbo until he figured out some plan of action to make things better.

He leaned down, and grabbed his phone from his pile of yesterday’s clothes.

Not surprisingly there was no signal down in this bunker. But the clock still worked fine.

It was a little past 9am. Much later than he typically slept.

So he forced himself out of bed. Stepped on many boxes and other various items cluttering this guest room until he found the light switch.

Then into the bathroom, trying to start the day.

He showered, cleaning away the grime in this small antiseptic white stall with various soaps and shampoos leftover from who knew who.

Then out of the warm water, toweling off. He found some new toothbrushes in the sink drawers and wiped the steam off the small mirror. His reflection made him jump.

Oh fuck.

Oh holy fuck.

Oh this was bad.

He looked like he had been _mauled_.

Too high on adrenaline and hormones to realize the extent of it, his neck was covered in deep violet bruises.

He was thoroughly _marked_. Marked in a way that looked like _anthalva_ , as they said in Crimimiss. _Anthalva_ meant symbols of belonging, or symbols of ownership. In the old, literal definition _anthalva_ actually referred to symbols that people painted on their faces. Now that was usually just for formal, traditional holidays & occasions, like weddings or during _Bastivala_.

But in the modern day, _anthalva_ could also refer to anything else that you found symbolic of belonging or ownership. And it could apply to a wide of range of relationships or community. Like school uniforms were a form of anthalva. Work uniforms. But anything really could be anthalva, from things like shoelaces all the way up to full-on collars with someone’s name engraved on them. Or in Jasper’s district of Rangowen, nail painting could be anthalva. It was about the symbolism, the tokenism. And some anthalva was meant to be more subtle and subversive, while some was more immediate and obvious.

Regardless, Mytarri _loved_ anthalva. Most wore or had some anthalva on every day of their lives. For example, Jasper’s nail polish was almost always anthalva of some kind, usually symbolizing the bond and community with his family through their coordinated weekly designs.

But these marks on the neck – obvious, exaggerated, intense _love bites_ – this kind of anthalva usually only meant _one thing_. 

If you walked around with these marks, open and visible, it meant you belonged to the person who gave you them. In a deep, _real_ way. Like Jasper might give _anthalva_ like this to Lydia or Marty … but that was it.

It was not anthalva that symbolized a _casual_ relationship with someone. It was anthalva for _lovers_ …

And Quinn had done it to him…

And Jasper had been too much of an emotional, horny wreck to put a stop to it.

Oh _fuck_.

In the bedroom he looked for something to cover the marks. Like a turtleneck or scarf, but nothing.

Well, this day was off to a fantastic start. Plus, it was obvious that vast majority of clothing in here belonged to Quinn. And he was _not_ going to wear Quinn’s clothes. That could also be seen as _anthalva_. And if it was, it was also _intense_ anthalva. Really only appropriate for bonds like suqua. Like Miguel’s suqua wore his clothing as anthalva…

Thoughts of Miguel snapped him from his reverie.

He rummaged through some of the drawers and finally found clothing that seemed far too small to be Quinn’s. Tight black skinny jeans. Tight black shirt for some vintage mort rock n roll band. Tight black hoodie. No underwear, but whatever. He needed to get out of here. Get home.

He left the bedroom and entered the main living space.

It was quiet, still, no signs of life. The door that Jasper assumed went to Quinn’s bedroom was shut.

Restless, he went into the kitchen. He a grabbed a banana, and starting devouring that, suddenly starving. Found some bread and made toast.

And then he discovered a piece of paper on the counter.

_Help yourself to any food. There is coffee and tea by the toaster. I made some pancake batter if you want some. Wifi password is CareBear ._

_– Q_

So _hospitable_ in this kidnapping. Well, Jasper didn’t want pancakes, but he would take the Wifi. He tapped in the password to his phone.

And then…

Panic and horror consumed. He had to spit out the piece of toast he was chewing. He felt sick, anxious, nauseous.

He had nearly 100 missed calls, texts and voicemails.

Oh fuck.

Before he could even open anything, he received another call. It was from Maxine, one of his brothers. It was a video call, but Jasper didn’t have the nerves for that. He picked it up on audio.

“Hello?” Jasper managed.

“OH MY FUCKINGS GODS! So you are alive? Where the fuck are you! What the fuck is going on?”

Something was extremely wrong. No one in his family would react like this just because he didn’t come home last night. He often didn’t come home – out late with friends, or over at Marty’s.

No, something next level was happening.

“Maxy, I’m sorry. But what – what’s wrong?”

“Don’t you FUCKING play that with me, you absolute fuck. Where have you been? Do you understand the chaos that is going on here now? I am so –”

“Maxy, you’re scaring the shit out of me. I have no idea what you’re talking about. What is happening?”

“What is happening?! What is happening?” Maxime was screaming into the phone. “What is happening is this morning I get a phone call from my CO telling me that I’ve been **_discharged_** from the National Defense! And when I asked, um, WHAT THE FUCK? I’m told it’s because MIGUEL DE LOS SANTOS personally requested this. So why don’t you tell me what the fuck is HAPPENING?!”

Jasper couldn’t breathe.

He was going to have a heart attack.

This was a heart attack.

This … This…

“Maxy…” he started, some strangled sound, “I don’t –“

“No,” his brother snapped, “Just stop. Because this clearly isn’t just about you and me, right? No, you’re clearly on some insane RAMPAGE, because ten minutes after I hear this news, I find Mom screaming on the phone with the bank. Because the bank _terminated_ the mortgage agreement. Because the bank is going to _REPOSSESS_ the house. They’re going to REPOSSESS _our house_ if the mortgage is not paid in 28 DAYS. Twenty-eight fucking days to pay off the mortgage! The mortgage that you helped fucking set up with Miguel de los Santos as the _guarantor_.”

“Maxy, please –”

“So you know what, Jay? I don’t really give a fuck where you are, or what the fuck you think you’ve been doing. But you need to fucking fix this. Now. You need to fix this now.”

“Maxy—”

“FIX THIS NOW.”

And Maxine hung up.

Jasper collapsed. Just dropped to a heap on the kitchen floor. _Crushed_ by the implications of this.

He gripped the side of the counter and managed a staggered, shaky breath. Trying, struggling to breathe.

He was paralyzed. He felt like a skyscraper had pushed into his chest.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t swallow. His heart pounded incessantly. The room was spinning around him, this white vortex.

He was going to throw up.

In some far, far dim part of his mind, he knew he was having a panic attack.

He had to breathe. He had to focus on breathing.

So he forced himself to look at the floor. The lines in this wooden plane in front of him. And then count.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe in.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe out.

Again. Again. Again.

Again. Again. Again.

Again. Again. Again.

And after a long, long while, he felt like he could look up.

There was warmth across his back. Something pleasant squeezed his arm. A comforting, pulsing pressure. Some other noise. Some other voice. Soothing, calming words.

With warbled vision, Jasper looked to his side.

Quinn Sabian was here, sat on the floor next to him. His arm draped over his back, and his other gently clasped around his upper arm, massaging the skin through the sweatshirt.

“Jasper Montesquieu. Mon - _tes -_ quieu. _Tes. Tes. That’s great. Tes. Just breathe. In & out. Perfect. Yes, great, Tes. Just breathe. In & out. _”

And eventually the tension lessened in his chest. He relaxed more into Quinn’s side, smelling him. That sharp scent, something like petrol.

“That’s it,” Quinn was saying, “That’s it. You’re okay. You’ve got this.”

Jasper moved. He pushed himself away from Quinn, his back against the side of the counter. Stared at this metiah sitting on the floor, wearing a ratty pair of sweatpants and a stained and frayed vintage CIT sweatshirt. His hair was bed-mussed and crazy, tied up on his head like a bird nest.

His deep brown eyes seemed aflame. Molten amber.

“Yeah,” he said, in that lush, baritone burr, “You’re good. How you doing, babe? You want any water?”

Jasper inhaled and exhaled. Trying to clear his mind any of remaining panic or anxiety. That would do no good here. He needed to _think_.

He needed to _act_ …

He needed…

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He had no idea what to do.

Jasper, who prided himself on his intelligence, his diligence, his preparation…

In the span of twenty-four hours he seemed to have destroyed his entire world.

And he had no idea on how to _fix_ it.

“I fucked up, Quinn,” he said, at last “I really, really, really fucked up.”

Quinn looked at him. He nodded. Eyes brimming with understanding, _empathy_.

“Yeah, Tes,” he said, “I know. But you know, we’ve all been there. And we’ll all be there again. But you’ve got this. You’ll get through this. And we’ll _fix_ this. Okay? But first, do you want any pancakes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in summary, Jasper has made some poor choices. Quinn has thus far been largely unhelpful in every possible sense. Miguel is crazy. And breakfast food sometimes helps...


	6. You'll Never Live Like Common People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - I made some very slight edits to Chapter Five. Just to make what is happening in this chapter clearer (hopefully).

“You'll never live like common people  
You'll never do whatever common people do  
Never fail like common people  
You'll never watch your life slide out of view  
And then dance and drink and screw  
Because there's nothing else to do.”

-Pulp, “Common People”

_Jasper_

Quinn did make pancakes. Fluffy, golden buttery discs of goodness that Jasper couldn’t even contemplate touching. The smell – that usual cheery, lazy morning smell – seemed just to nauseate and depress him further.

So instead he sat on a chair, curled over the kitchen counter. Head in his arms, the noise and scents of the cooking far away, as he shut his eyes, and tried to stare down the looming black void.

_Mistake_ didn’t even begin to cover this one.

This was red alert catastrophe.

But then there was a hand on his neck, dragging him back to reality.

“Tes, are you sure don’t want anything to eat?”

What a ridiculous pet name. No one shortened his surname, his grandiose, French philosopher surname, to something so sweet and soft. Everyone just called him Jay, except apparently Quinn Sabian…

He wanted to argue against it… but he also… ( _liked the name_ ).

Despite how safe it felt to wallow, Jasper straightened up in his seat. Eyed the man beside him, dressed in ratty sweats, with wild, unbrushed blonde hair.

“Fuck the food,” Jasper said, trying to keep his tone calm, “I need to go… I need to sort this out with my family.”

Quinn nodded. He sat beside Jasper at the counter. Pulled a plate of pancakes towards him with a bottle of syrup. And started diving into the breakfast.

“Tell me what happened,” he said, between bites, “Did someone call you?”

“My brother called,” Jasper started. Normally, he would never be this open, this transparent with someone he barely knew. But he was raw. Wounded and bleeding. And this person, _this Quinn_ , had just helped him through the panic attack. Through the trauma as the _weight_ of what was happening had crashed him like a wave, drowning him.

But like waves, it had passed.

Now, his nerves somewhat restored… He needed to talk this out. He needed to _process_ this.

“My brother called this morning,” he continued, “And he said he’d been discharged from the National Defense. Then he said my parents lost the mortgage on our house. And the bank is trying to repossess the house. And who knows what else – it’s still early in the day.

“This is all Miguel. Miguel – he has military connections from his suqua. He _helped_ Maxy get promoted to corporal last month And he was the guarantor on my family’s mortgage. But now … everything has changed.

“He’s out to hurt me. Badly. He’s angry. Clearly wants vengeance. Clearly more furious than I ever expected. And I completely miscalculated and misread this. I didn’t… I didn't think he would ever go after my family like this. I…I thought he would just keep this between us. But I was wrong. And now my family is going to suffer for it. And it’s all my fault.”

Quinn just kept eating. After a bite, he took a sip of tea. Turned back to Jasper.

“So, what are you thinking? What are you going to do?”

Jasper couldn’t stifle the sigh. Hardly a supportive response.

“I don’t know,” he said, turning away, “I have go to see my family. Figure out the extent of the damage. See what can be salvaged. And then…Then I guess have to talk to Miguel. Find out what he wants to make this _stop_. I can’t let this continue. I can’t let my family get hurt like this.”

Quinn made some kind of vague, noncommittal sound.

“What?” Jasper hissed, twisting around, locking his eyes on the metiah, “Do you have something to add to this?”

Quinn met his gaze calmly, almost serene. He finished chewing some pancake. Took another long drink of tea, as they stared at each other.

Finally, he said, “Are you open to some constructive criticism?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Is this amusing to you?” Jasper snapped.

“Not at all. I just think we have very different perspectives on what’s happening here.”

“Then, please,” Jasper said, all sarcasm, “What do you think is happening?”

“Well – Why do you think Miguel is angry? And what is he angry about?”

“Have you _been_ here for the last twenty-four hours? He’s angry because you and I have been… _getting to know each other –_ ”

“Wow, _getting to know each other_. Is that what you think—”

“And that I didn’t _tell him about it_. That I broke the _trust_. So now he thinks I’m trying to hurt Fitch and his suqua. So now he’s out to hurt me. As punishment.”

“Uh huh.”

“What, Quinn?” He was so thoroughly exasperated “What are you getting at?”

“I think you’re wrong.”

Jasper felt like punching something, no, _someone_. Someone sitting next to him.

“This isn’t constructive at all,” he muttered, resting his chin in his hands again.

“No, I guess not. But look,” he started, brows rising emphatically, “As you said many times yesterday, I don’t know Miguel. Or his suqua. Or anyone in his crazy orbit. Except you, of course.

“But if I were just going off what I _do_ know…I have a _strong_ belief that if Miguel was really trying to hurt you – punish you –then you would not have _left_ his estate last night.”

That made Jasper pause.

“What are you saying?” He hated how quiet and unsure his voice sounded. “You think Miguel would have imprisoned me there? Keep me there by force? Did you think…are you implying… Miguel wouldn't have _harmed_ me, Quinn. Not for this.”

That was a possibility Jasper had never even _considered_. Miguel _harming_ him – that was _inconceivable_ , given his relationship with Fitch. Miguel would never harm anyone he owned. Anyone he loved. And harming _Jasper_ would in turn harm _Fitch_. As long as Fitch loved Jasper, and as long as Jasper didn't, as Miguel said, _jeopardize_ Fitch... Miguel would never...

 _Harm_ was for those you wished to _destroy_. Harm meant traumatic, permanent damage from which it might be _impossible_ to recover from. Harm was prolonged, sustained _abuse_ …

“He wouldn’t _harm_ you,” Quinn said, breaking Jasper’s dark train of thought, “But I expected him to be much _harsher_ with you. To hurt you a lot more substantially. But he didn’t. He just kicked you out of his household. Which leads me to believe that he must actually _care for you_ a considerable amount. And that he wasn’t very surprised by this new development in your life. He wasn’t surprised at all.”

There was a weight behind that last sentence. Some tension expanding in the air. Jasper averted his gaze from Quinn, feeling a flush come over his cheeks.

“Well, then what’s he doing now?” Jasper asked, not meeting the other man’s eyes, “These types of attacks on my family… This is substantial _hur_ t. This is _harsh_. This is something that could have potential for _harm_.”

“Of course,” Quinn, a small, sardonic smile creeping on his face, “There is potential for _harm_ in this. But it will never be realized, Tes. It will _never_ come to that. No…Miguel de los Santos just wants to play. He’s just being a greedy, little attention whore, demanding instant gratification.”

“I …I don’t follow. What gratification?”

His smile deepened, Quinn’s peach lips twisting in a sharp, sarcastic, grin.

“These attacks aren’t for you, Jasper Montesquieu. They’re for me. Any potential _harm_ is all _just for me_.”

Jasper was at a loss for words. His mind spiraled with the implications of this.

“How is attacking my family about you and Miguel?” he managed, “How can the _harm_ be intended for you? And even if this is true, it doesn’t _matter_ , Quinn! My family is _hurting_ now. In a substantial, real way that is the fault of my actions, my choices. I’m not going to let people I love _suffer_ because of anything involving me. I’m going to go to Miguel and I’m going to get him to stop this.”

“ _No.”_

And that was a different tone. Not cold. Not angry. But firm, _absolute_. Quinn’s eyes pierced his, brilliant and blazing.

“You’re not going to him,” the metiah said, “You’re not going anywhere _near_ him.”

Jasper had to keep himself still, to not shudder under the force behind those words. Any trace of humor was gone from Quinn, his eyes sharpened for battle, his tone demanding submission.

Jasper swallowed, but forced the words out as clearly as he could.

“I’ll do whatever I decide I need to do. And if I need to go back to Miguel, then I will.”

“No, you won’t,” Quinn repeated.

The metiah stood up and moved closer to him.

His eyes, these molten amber orbs, crushed him in their intensity.

His scent, that distinct, spiced, oil scent, permeated Jasper’s senses.

And then, he felt it…

That pulse. That spasm that seemed to emanate from some _soul core_. But it was physical now.

He could feel it – like a _hum_. Like a _vibration_. Throughout his body but most intense in _his hands_. Where those fine, delicate deposits had formed. The _amma_.

Quinn kept talking. His words engulfed Jasper. _Consumed_ him. 

“You go to Miguel now,” Quinn said, “Then are going to him _forever_. You go to him now, he will claim as you _dalmata_. I know you understand this, and I know that is **_not_** what you want. You can only move forward in this game, Jasper Montesquieu. And _you_ know that. I know you have to feel that.”

Jasper’s heart hammered. He was flushed everywhere. _Sweating_.

He couldn’t break his gaze on Quinn, and everything else was a blur around them. Some insane tornado. But he refused to get swept up in this, powerless, like Dorothy flung into Oz out of her control.

This was terrifying, _yes_. This was painful, _yes._ And painful not only for him. But despite of all of that, he wasn’t surrendering to these relentless powers around him. Not like this. No matter how it much it _hurt_.

So, like a man possessed, he stood up.

Stared Quinn down.

And he issued the challenge.

“I’m not yours,” he said, as steadily as he could, “I don’t belong to you. How I move in this game is not for you to decide or control. It’s my choice.”

Quinn moved closer into Jasper’s space, leaning over him. Jasper’s pulse was on fire, and he’d stopped breathing. 

But no time to think about how _insane_ he was being, _challenging_ a metiah like this.

“Maybe,” Quinn said, leaning down, whispering into his ear, “But here’s the thing about choices. You hesitate, and the situation changes. You hesitate, and then the choices can be _taken_ away from you.”

And he leaned down and he kissed Jasper. _Searing, possessive force_.

Unexpected, wild sensation coursed through him. That hum, that vibration – it literally crackled up his spine. 

But then it was gone. _An immediate, sharp loss_.

And he realized what happened.

Quinn had grabbed his phone off the counter, and moved away.

“Quinn!”

He ran after him, but it was too late.

Quinn had already hacked into the phone, and made the call.

The phone was on speaker; it started to ring.

Quinn’s eyes were ignited, burning into Jasper’s.

“ _Don’t talk_ ,” he hissed. And despite everything, Jasper found himself nodding. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could just listen to this insanity unfold.

The ringing stopped.

“Hello?” The familiar voice answered, causal and chipper.

And this presence. This _other_. Even just a digital connection seemed to snap some of the tension that had been mounting in the room.

“Miguel de los Santos,” Quinn replied, his voice dropping back to something calm and clear, even though his eyes still barreled in Jasper.

“Quinn Sabian. How the fuck are you doing?”

And Quinn smiled, the expression more a grimace than anything else.

“Well, I’m just having an absolutely lovely morning. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“I can only imagine, Quinn. Quite vividly, but still… only my imagination. How’s everything otherwise? You planning to show up for the circus this New Year, or are you skipping town?”

“Oh, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Miguel laughed, a low, jarring noise over the phone.

“Oh, I doubt that very much. But maybe we’ll have some _fun_. But anyways, to what do I owe today’s pleasure? How’s Jay doing on this absolutely lovely morning?”

And Quinn actually rolled his eyes.

He broke Jasper’s gaze and started pacing towards the sofas.

“Who’s that?” he said, all mock-confused.

“Aren’t you the _cutest_ and the _sweetest_. You must be very comfortable and cozy somewhere.”

“Just a few bumps and bruises, but otherwise, yes, _very_ comfortable.”

Jasper’s hand involuntarily went to his neck, touching the sore marks.

Quinn had settled down on a sofa, sprawled out, casual.

“So I was thinking,” Quinn continued, “We should go out.” 

Miguel laughed again, completely _delighted_.

“Well, I’m flattered. Again, aren’t you just the _sweetest_. I mean, _apparently_ I have been hoping for this for a while. Apparently, just waiting for you to call _for weeks._ Where do you want to go?”

“Wherever you want.”

“Wherever I want,” Miguel repeated, sounding _thrilled_ , “Oh, that’s wonderful. Well, of course, Quinn Sabian, that is absolutely _perfect_. But… the only thing is I’m pretty busy these days. I’m sure you understand. I mean, sometimes it seems like weeks, months even, can just go by and get the better of me… So maybe we meet later on? How about after New Years, after the circus?”

Jasper gulped down air in a straggled, strangled inhales. Involuntarily, he had walked forward, behind the sofa where Quinn had sprawled. The moth to the flame, drawn into this damned conversation.

Quinn arched a brow, and replied back in a bland, disinterested drawl. “Sure, we could do then…But I had been thinking more like this week.”

“Of course you’d been thinking that. I just don’t see how that could possibly fit in the schedule. You understand me?”

Quinn paused. And though nothing in his body posture changed, Jasper thought he saw the flash of anger in his eyes.

“Well,” Quinn said, “I suppose. A shame though. I had a funny story to tell you. Might not be that funny after the circus though.”

“Oh really? What about?”

“Something a Silicon Valley friend told me. He had these wild notions about Lemon.”

A moment of silence. And when Miguel spoke next, Jasper could hear _that grin_ in his voice. He knew how Miguel got when he truly _excited_ about something – fevered, intense and manic.

“Quinn Sabian, you’re just _fascinating_. I had no idea how _desperate_ you were to meet. Well, how I can deny such a sweet request. That would be rude, and I could never be _that_ rude. Especially since you’ve spent weeks of what seemed to be malignant indifference apparently just stalking me. Which is so sweet, you know? And kind of hot too. I _love_ it. How does this week sound? Let’s meet at the old club by the fountains. You ever been there?”

Even Jasper understood what “club” Miguel meant. It was probably one of the most beautiful buildings in the city of Crimimiss, across the plaza from the iconic Walqua Fountains. Only the most elite of elite of Crimion society had access to it. The _old_ lineages, the _old_ metiah bloodlines. The gatekeepers of their world.

“No,” Quinn said, a twisted, half smile on his lips, “I haven’t been before.”

“Then you’re in for a _treat_. We’ll sort out the details later. I’m so looking forward to it, Quinn.”

And Miguel hung up.

Shell-shocked silence for a moment.

Then Jasper remembered he could move.

He rounded in front of the sofa. Gaped down at the man still sprawled over the cushions.

“What the fuck?” he managed, “ _What was that_?”

Quinn didn’t respond. He was staring off into space, thoughts clearly spiraling very far from this underground bunker.

“Quinn!” Jasper hated how shrill and panicked his voice sounded, but he was far too overwhelmed to mask it.

That seemed to bring the metiah back to the moment. He looked up, like he was just noticing Jasper for the first time.

“Yeah, Tes?” he said, still very distracted, scheming something far away.

“What the fuck was that? What are you doing with Miguel? What have you done?”

Quinn smiled slowly.

“Well, I just did what _I_ needed to. What I _wanted_ to do. And I guess, now you can do whatever you want to do. _Without_ going to Miguel.”

Jasper could just stare slack-jawed, and wide-eyed. In the way, way back of his mind, he understood ( _conceptually at least_ ) what he had just witnessed…what he had just heard. Quinn was… Quinn was _playing_ with Miguel. Some serious, intricate design.

But how and _why…_ Yes, the _why_? The crucial, crucial why…

Far too much to process now. But one thing had to be resolved. One thing had to be _understood_.

“Okay, you insane metiah. I won’t go to Miguel. _For now_. But let me make one thing _very clear_. My family, the people I love – they will not be collateral damage in whatever havoc you’re scheming. They will not suffer more because you’re playing some craziness with Miguel. They need to be left out of this.”

Quinn abruptly stood up, his lanky form leaning over Jasper, back into his personal space.

“I’m not going to hurt your family. I’m not going to _harm_ your family. You deal with today’s fallout however you think is best. But just… you _need_ to leave Miguel to me. Please. You understand me. You have to leave him to me.”

Jasper met his gaze. Stared into deep brown eyes, brimming with kindness and empathy.

“I don’t trust you,” he said at last.

And Quinn nodded. A slow, easy smile forming on his face. 

“Good. You shouldn’t. That doesn’t mean I’m lying though.”

Jasper just stared at him. This peculiar man, still such a stranger to him but…the sincerity that radiated off of him was palpable. If Quinn was lying now, it would have to be _soul deep_. No… Quinn was telling the truth here. He wasn’t going to harm Jasper’s family.

But that certainly didn’t mean he was going to _help_ them.

In fact… Jasper knew _,_ deep in the small, insistent part of his mind, that Quinn _couldn’t_ help them now. Not directly. Not tangibly. Not now. Not _yet_.

_(Nothing material, monetary or influential given.)_

But indirect help. _Indirect influence_.

That was possible.

Especially if…

That train of thought jolted Jasper.

“I need to go,” he said. “I need to go to my family.”

Quinn just gave a curt nod.

“Alright. I’ll drive you.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride back to Jasper’s home in Rangowen was silent. Both men in the front of Quinn’s pickup truck absorbed in their own thoughts.

Jasper’s mind swirled, like some blizzard. So much, _too much_ , to process, to try to understand. But for some reason, he kept coming back to something. Some niggly, gnawing idea that just wouldn’t desist.

Eventually he had to say it.

“Yesterday,” he started, his voice a bit raspy from his recent screaming, “You said yesterday that you had expected Miguel to keep me at his estate. To keep me by force, to _punish_ me.”

He paused. Quinn shot him a quick glance from the driver’s seat, brow furrowed like he’d remembered something unpleasant.

“Yes,” he said, “That’s what I thought would have happened.”

“But you came,” Jasper said, “You drove over to the estate, looking for me. Why? What were you planning to do?”

Quinn shot him another hard glance, but it was unreadable. He turned his attention back to the road.

Enough time passed that Jasper assumed Quinn wasn’t going to answer. But then he spoke.

“It doesn’t matter. It didn’t happen, and now it’s not going to. You should focus on what’s actually happening now. Where am I going anyway?”

Jasper looked outside. The scenery was familiar again, far from that strange, apocalyptic scrapyard that had looked like a Mad Max set in the daytime. No, now they were back among the white stone houses, the large, old trees, cluttered with brown, crinkled leaves, the narrow, cobblestone streets. Back to reality.

“What? You didn’t track down my address?”

Quinn chuckled.

“Well, I mean, I can clearly tell you’re from Rangowen. But, despite what you seem to think, I’m not actually stalking you like that.”

“Right…So at the club that night? You were just hanging out?”

Quinn shook his head.

“I was meeting someone. And I saw you there.”

“Very convenient.”

Quinn sighed.

“Just tell me the address.”

And Jasper did. But when they got to the beginning of his street, he told Quinn to stop and pull over. Quinn complied, looking at Jasper questionably.

“I don’t need them seeing you,” he said, his stress level skyrocketing now that they were near his house, “This is already going to be horrible.”

He looked down the street, towards his home. A bunch of familiar cars were parked in the driveway, on the street. Oh gods, what was he going to do?

“Do you know what you’re going to say?” Quinn asked. He was looking at Jasper fully now. His eyes were kind, sincere. Jasper saw that empathy flashing there.

Oh, fuck… He had to get it together. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

“More or less,” Jasper said, “But it’s going to be an angry mob. They’re not…they didn’t expect this…”

“They’ll manage. And so will you.” He paused.

“Tes,” Quinn continued, “That place where we were staying last night… That place doesn’t exist. You know what I mean?”

Jasper looked at him carefully. There was no hardness in his face. No threat with this. Just a simple statement and a simple question.

“Yes, I understand,” Jasper said, trying to ignore the warmth that sparked in him. Quinn was _trusting_ with that underground shelter…

He took another steadying breath.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said.

And he got out of the car.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

The scene inside the Montesquieu household was what he’d anticipated. But even though he’d expected it, that didn’t make it any less painful.

He entered through the front door into the main living area.

Immediately around thirty pairs of eyes locked onto him.

A cacophony of noise and calls.

It was everyone in the extended Montesquieu clan. His parents. His five siblings and their various partners. Multiple aunts, uncles and cousins. 

Usually, he was so grateful for his large, loving family. But for a brief, brief moment, he wondered why he couldn’t have been an _orphan_.

But of course, leave it to his youngest sister Collette, to make that initial, insidious, perfectly timed comment.

“Fucking hell, Jay,” she exclaimed, loud and melodramatic as ever, “What are you wearing? And what is that _anthalva_ on your neck?”

And that just renewed the frenzy.

Jasper remained frozen in place in the onslaught. Voices overlapping voices, words, questions, accusations blurring together.

At the center of all this was his mother. Celeste Montesquieu sat in a large armchair by the blazing fireplace. Her blue eyes, the same icy shade as Jasper’s, bearing into him, cold and inscrutable. 

Without a word, she stood up. The family quieted, watching her intently.

She walked over to her son. Stood close to him, assessing, observing. Her eyes lingered over the marks on his neck, his strange, haphazard black clothing that was a couple sizes too small.

“Are you _harmed_?” she asked, in a clear voice that said she already knew the answer. But just needed to be sure.

“No,” Jasper said, “I’m okay.”

“Good. Then let’s talk.”

And she walked past him without another word. Jasper’s father got up as well, and Jasper went after Celeste, leaving the rest of clan behind.

They went to the small office at the back of the house. Just a couple sofas, chairs, a desk.

Jasper sat down, and his parents on the sofa across from him.

The three stared at each other for a few moments. Jasper observed his father, the lines prominent in his brow, his lips pressed in a small tight line. The hurt and confusion pulsed off of him like visceral sonar waves. He looked miserable, the mental anguish clearly rampant in his mind, but it was one that he wouldn’t vocalize. Victor Montesquieu was a true introvert. He internalized everything, processed and bottled it all into some vibrant emotional core. Articulations of his feelings and opinions rarely made to words. He preferred to express himself in his paintings.

His mother on the other hand had no issue saying exactly how she felt, if you were deemed worthy of her time and her love. Her children had never had to guess or wonder at her thoughts. And from her expression, Jasper knew she also _distraught_ …

“Jay,” she said, “Talk to us. What is going on? What has happened?”

Her voice, so somber, saturated with disappointment, was almost too much to bear for Jasper. He forced himself to blink back some tears. He couldn’t blubber through this. He needed to be better than that. He _was_ better than that. Usually at least… But not today…

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“That’s doubtful.”

Another voice pierced into the tense room. Guillaume, Jasper’s oldest brother, had rolled in, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Gui!” his mother hissed, “We don’t need –”

“No,” Guillaume snapped. He pulled up a chair, and joined their space. “I’m hearing this. You’ll want me to hear this. So go on Jasper. What’s happened? Why are you sorry?”

Jasper regarded his brother, watching the fire blaze in his blue eyes. Guillaume, as the oldest of six, often acted a third parent to him and his siblings. He always felt compelled to insert himself into everyone’s issues, try to _fix_ all the problems in the family. It was all from love, but sometimes he could just be so overbearing, steamrolling everything that didn’t mesh with _his_ vision of a solution. 

But maybe it was better he was here. Gui’s anger could help mitigate Jasper’s guilt…

So he started talking again.

“I’m sorry,” Jasper repeated, “I mean that. I never meant for you all to be involved in this. It was … it was a horrible mistake.”

“What’s happening?” his mother asked, her eyes like knives into his skull, “What did you do with Miguel? Are you playing something with him—?”

“No,” Jasper hissed, empathetic, “It’s not… it’s not that. I…” Oh fuck, he here went. “I met someone. And I didn’t tell Fitch about it. Or Miguel. Or anyone really.”

His parents and brother exchanged a confused glance.

“I don’t understand,” Celeste said, “Who did you meet?”

Jasper swallowed. He couldn’t think about what he was doing. He just needed to move forward.

“His name,” Jasper said, “is Quinn Sabian.”

He paused. The just looked at him blankly.

“He’s metiah.”

The reaction was visceral and immediate.

His father jolted back on the sofa, looking downward, rubbing his forehead intently. Both Guillaume and Celeste gaped at him, mouths wide and startled.

“Jay,” his mother said, “What do you mean? What are you saying here?”

Jasper took a breath, perhaps the deepest breath of his life.

And because he _loved_ them, and because they _deserved the truth_ , he forced himself to speak the words.

The words he had barely been able to admit to _himself_.

“I’m saying that I met another metiah named Quinn Sabian. And he is courting me. He’s courting me for suqua. And I didn’t tell Miguel.”

Absolute, utter silence.

Yes, it wasn’t _all the words_. It wasn’t every _nuance and intuition_ that Jasper felt in his core.

But some of that could only be for him… and _Quinn_.

Still, it was _more than enough_. In fact, it was really _everything_.

Jasper felt like his heart was about to burst through his ribcage.

“Well, fuck,” Guillaume finally said, “Fuck. I’m … I can’t believe you. Who are you? You…You are actually the _knackiest_ person I’ve met in my life.”

“Gui—”

“You had not only a metiah, but one of the most powerful people in Crimimiss, who was going to _claim_ you as dalmata. But that _incredible situation_ just wasn’t enough for you. No, no, no. You needed more. That’s how it’s always been for you Jay. Nothing is ever good enough. Nothing about your life, _our life_ , is ever good enough. It is always about _more_. _Better_. Even if it meant –”

“SHUT UP GUI!” Jasper screamed, “Just stop! I _didn’t_ seek this out. I _didn’t_ play for this. I LOVE Fitch. I never set out to hurt him like this, and I can’t believe you think I’d ever scheme like that. This was just something that happened. I don’t know why, but it did. And now…Now I can only go forward.”

“Tell us what happened,” his mother interjected, “Start at the beginning.”

And Jasper did. He started from the first encounter with Quinn and went onwards.

It was definitely an edited version.

And he had to omit almost everything that had happened yesterday and this morning. There was only so much he could say about Miguel. And as for details about Quinn… well, that needed to be _guarded_.

So he just finished his narration with this: “And then Fitch and I went to talk with Miguel. And he, of course, knew what was happening. And he was angry. And he kicked me out of the Estate. And then this morning, I heard what happened with Maxy and the mortgage. I was so… I never thought Miguel would play with me like that. I thought, for better or worse, that it would just stay between us. But I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

Silence again as his family processed this.

To their credit, he knew they wouldn’t ask too much about the numerous gaps in the story. They all understood now, from years of experience with Miguel, that there were things with metiah that could be shared, and some things that couldn’t.

But there was one gap that couldn’t be ignored.

So this time Celeste broke the silence.

The coldness in her expression was gone. Now there was a swirl of new emotions in her radiant blue eyes. Anger, yes. Concern, yes. But also that _excitement_. That _anticipation_. That relentless curiosity about power that was the curse, but also very much the _blessing_ of their people.

“So why were you wrong?” she asked, “Why is Miguel hurting all of us like this now? What didn’t you expect?”

Here was the tricky part, the part that would require _finesse_.

What could he say? How could he make them understand what he barely understood himself?

But he thought back to the sincerity in Quinn’s words: _“I’m not going to hurt your family. I’m not going to harm your family.”_

Could he trust in that?

He answered his mother.

“There is something between Miguel and Quinn. I honestly don’t know what it is, and I don’t think I can speak to it. But Miguel hurting us wasn’t really about hurting _us_. It was about getting something from Quinn. _Forcing_ something from Quinn.”

He paused. Took another breath and continued.

“And I think Quinn is going to yield to it. I think he’s going to seriously play with Miguel. And I don’t think Miguel will come after you and the family again.”

Jasper, of course, would still be fair game. But that was a different story. That was his decision.

His mother nodded, immersed in her thoughts.

“So Miguel is using us as pawns now. Our welfare be damned. After everything you’ve done for Fitch.” Her face darkened slightly here, but only for a moment. She exhaled and continued, “It’s a massive risk, Jay. If Miguel is willing to cross these lines now, you have to expect that he will do it again in the future. And then the consequences will be worst. Dire. _Harm_ potentially.”

Jasper just looked at the three of them.

Trying, vainly, to form the words. 

Wishing he could convey this _feeling_ that had settled into the marrow the of his bones.

But how could he express what he couldn’t even name?

“You will not be pawns in this,” he said at last, “I know… I know that sounds naïve. But this game was made not for you. You will not be _harmed_. I will not let you be _harmed_. You need to trust me on this.” 

Guillaume stood up. He started pacing around the room, frustration rolling off of him.

“So what?” he growled, “So we just sit here and do nothing while you try to sort this out? What about Maxy’s job? What about the fucking _house_?”

Damn it all… what could he say?

“I don’t…” Jasper started, feeling so inadequate, “I don’t know exactly what will happen. But I _know_ we will get through this, unharmed. Maxy will find another job. We will find another mortgage.”

“Well how convenient. How simple then.” Guillaume snarled. “But for argument’s sake, if that doesn’t miraculously happen, what is your plan B?”

“I don’t have one.” 

“Oh great. So we’re going to risk everything on some magical thinking? This is _bullshit_ , Jay. And I’m not going to let you put _my_ family into _immediate danger_ because you have some insane belief that these metiah mean us no harm. Miguel _deliberately_ hurt us. We either beg forgiveness or we _retaliate._ Sitting idly isn’t an option.”

And then, much to everyone’s surprise, their father spoke. He broke away from his inward contemplation and looked between his sons.

“No, Guillaume,” Victor said, deep bass voice resounding in the small space, “Jasper is right. We need to wait.”

A silence stretched over the group.

Jasper watched his mother closely. The small smile stayed on her face as she thought this through.

And then she reached over. Grabbed his father’s wrist. That undeniable Mytarri gesture of love and support.

“Yes,” she agreed, an authority weighing her words, “Yes, we need to wait. We need to see how this game plays out before we make any move.”

Jasper exhaled. Released the breathe he didn’t realize he was holding.

Guillaume stared at their mother, and she returned the gaze unflinching.

And eventually Guillaume looked away.

“Alright,” he conceded, “We wait. But if in a month, the bank comes—”

“They won’t,” Jasper said, stopping that train before it could get going again, “It won’t.”

“Fuck, I hope you’re right, Jay. I really do.”

“Please,” he said, standing up, walking towards his brother, “Please trust me. I will not let this _harm_ us. I won’t. I _can’t_.”

His brother sighed.

But then he was moving. He wrapped Jasper into an embrace, tight and firm.

“You’re crazy, Jay. But, yes, I trust you. But you have to be careful. You are not alone in this. We all love you, and we all need you well. And I want… I want _so much_ for this to work out for you. So don’t fuck it up. ”

And he released him. Looked over at their parents for a moment.

“Papa, come on,” Guillaume said, “Let’s go talk to the troops.”

And Victor nodded. He stood up and hugged his son as well. Wordless as ever in his affection.

But then they had left.

Just him and his mother now.

She got to her feet as well. Though almost half a foot shorter than him, her presence filled the room. Her eyes, that deep blue, like their amma brands, pierced into him.

And she reached up towards his neck, her fingers gently touching the bruises. She pulled her hand away.

And then she was smiling. _Beaming_.

“My Jasper,” she said, “My knacky, beautiful child. Being courted for suqua…”

She paused. And Jasper saw the tears forming in her eyes.

“I always hoped for this for you. _Always_. And I can see it in your eyes. I can see what you can’t say. What you won’t say. This is it, isn’t it? This is the _everything_. Well listen to me, Jay. No matter what happens you need to promise me something.”

Jasper blinked. Wetness in his eyes too. 

“What Mama?”

“I need you to promise me that you’ll always remember that you are _loved_. That you have a _home_ here. And that no matter what happens, you are _my child_. And you are strong, and brave, and kind, and _good_. And that you should trust yourself in this _completely_.

“I know you are worried about making the wrong decision. But that is impossible for you, Jay. You already know what is right. You already know what you need to do. And I will always love you and I will always be here to support you in everything.”

And she wrapped him in her arms. And Jasper couldn’t hold back then. It was impossible in the face of her love, this unconditional love from the one who had always _understood_ him most. So he just let himself cry. And he said goodbye to everything that _had been_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 
> 
> I wrote three versions of this chapter. Still very much a work in progress, but that's all the fun of posting a draft.
> 
> Would anyone be interested in a glossary for this world? I realize there is a lot of made-up word nonsense that goes with all the crazy fantasy world building. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading.


	7. Some Things You Let Go In Order to Live

“But still you stumble, feet give way.  
Outside the world seems a violent place.  
But you had to have him, and so you did.  
Some things you let go in order to live.

While all around you the buildings sway.  
You sing it out loud – Who made us this way?  
I know you're bleeding, but you'll be okay.  
Hold on to your heart, you'll keep it safe.  
Hold on to your heart. Don't give it away.”

-Florence + The Machine, “Various Storms and Saints”

_Jasper_

Monday had come around. And Jasper was back at university.

He had spent the entirety of the weekend cocooned in his bedroom with Marty and Lyd. After the weight of everything that had happened last week, he just wanted to be sequestered from the world, somewhere comfortable, _safe_.

So he’d ignored his phone, ignored his thoughts and numbed everything with mindless television and mindless sex.

Though the three of them had _talked_. He finally told them both the tale - a much more uncensored version than he’d shared with his family.

Marty and Lydia were _his_. Their loyalty to each other was the bedrock foundation of their friendship.

They had been upset, of course, at some of the more painful revelations. But they both loved Jasper, trusted him. _Belonged_ to him. It was the way of things in these types of Mytarri friendships. The closer they were, the more they _belonged_ to each other. A commitment built up from years of trust, loyalty and love.

So while they were concerned, _scared_ for Jasper, _scared_ for Fitch… They _trusted_ Jasper.

So it was agreed that Marty and Lydia would stay as far away as from this affair as possible, until things settled down more. They wouldn’t go anywhere near anything that involved Miguel de los Santos.

And they also would not contact Fitch. Not until Jasper gave the greenlight.

But despite giving that direction, by Sunday evening, Jasper had lost the bottle of wills with himself.

And he had tried to text Fitch.

Simple words that he’d deleted and typed out at least twenty times before hitting send.

_I’m sorry about this. I’m sorry about everything. I hope we can talk soon._

The message had immediately bounced back, undelivered.

Fitch was blocking him.

Such sharp pain of rejection had knifed through him.

Gods only knew what Miguel had said to Fitch. What he had _told_ him… But it was entirely out of Jasper’s control now. He couldn’t run back into the De Los Santos Estate and try to explain, to reassure, to express that his love for him hadn’t _changed…_

No. He had to wait for Fitch to reach out to him.

So he absorbed the pain of the rejected message. Kept that secret from Marty and Lydia.

And he’d forced himself to leave his safe little love nest of friends.

Back into harsh reality. 

Jasper entered Carson’s office. Found his advisor in his usual position hunched in front of a trio of monitors. But he jolted when he saw Jasper enter the space. Took off his headphones and actually stood up.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” he said, rushing towards him, “Thank Gods! I mean… you’re here. I wasn’t sure what to think… And you didn’t text me back. Are you okay?”

Jasper regarded the man in front of him with a wry smile.

“I’m fine, Titus Carson,” he said, “Just been busy. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Carson’s brown eyes were wide, mouth pressed in some twisted grimace. Jasper could tell he both hated and loved this. Part of him clearly wanted to rush for the cover and protection of his nearby computers, but the other part – well, that was so _intrigued_ by what was unfolding right under his nose. The possibilities of this – it was all far too tempting to ignore, even if it clearly _terrified_ him.

“Quinn Sabian came here on Friday,” Carson managed, in a gruff, awkward tone, “He was looking for you. And I told him where you went. I mean… I didn’t think it was anything… but then he seemed so _angry_. I … I didn’t… Did I fuck something up, Jay? I didn’t mean… You know I don’t know anything with Miguel…I didn’t—”

“It’s fine, Car,” Jasper said, taking pity on the man. He reached over and squeezed his arm. Then walked away, going through his standard motions. Turning on the computers at his work station, taking off his coat. 

“There was nothing else you could have done, so don’t worry about it,” he continued, busying himself with getting ready, “What’s done is done.”

“Jay … If you ever want me to say something…. _do_ something –”

“No.” Jasper’s eyes shot up, lasering in his advisor. “I want you to be as exactly as involved in this, as you are now – Not at all. The less you know, the better. In fact, let’s just not talk about Quinn or Miguel or any metiah, unless absolutely necessary, okay? We’re going to keep this about our work, and that will be all.”

Knock, knock, knock.

Jasper’s eyes jolted to the open office door.

What fresh hell was this?

A woman was standing in the open doorway, with a wide, pearly, gleaming smile. Jasper had never seen her before in his life, but every instinct in his body warned this was trouble. This was _something_.

Carson clearly knew who she was. He paled slightly, shoulders dropping at her arrival.

“Good morning, Titus Carson,” the stranger said, all chipper, “How are you doing today?”

“Nadine Velga. I’m fine.”

“Excellent. And are you Jasper Montesquieu?”

The woman shifted her attention to Jasper, looking him over in an obvious, deliberate manner.

“Yes,” he said, instantly tensing with this evaluation, “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling wider, “Lyle Venter wants to speak with you. Can you please come with me?”

Well, fuck.

Lyle Venter was the President of the Crimion Institute of Technology. Lyle and Jasper had never spoken. There had never been any need or reason. But Jasper suspected that was all _rapidly_ changing.

In fact, Jasper had been _expecting_ this invitation to talk with Lyle. He had just hoped it might not be first thing on Monday morning.

But this was his life now.

He plastered on his own false sunny smile, and put back on his jacket. Packed up his satchel bag again. 

“Sure, Nadine,” he said, “Let’s go.”

Carson looked like he was on the verge of seizure, his eyes rapidly bouncing from Jasper to the newcomer. His expression a unique blend of panic and excitement.

“Do you want me to come with –?”

“NO.” Both Nadine and Jasper said at the same time.

Jasper began following the woman out the door. He glanced back at Carson looking very unmoored and adrift in the center of his office.

“Just stay here, Car,” Jasper said, already beyond exasperated, “And don’t say anything to anyone, okay?”

“Do you want me to –?”

“No. Whatever it is, no. I’ll see you later.”

And Jasper left.

This messenger set a brisk pace, almost bouncing along. She seemed obviously interested in Jasper and made no show to hide it. She kept darting glances back at him, as he struggled to keep up.

They serpentined through the CIT campus, which was pretty extensive given the school’s history. The wide open suburban location had given the institute room to sprawl, and the grounds were a village of grey stone buildings and some new modern, metal construction. In the wintertime, the tall trees stretched up bare and raggled, the landscape covered in dried leaves and twigs. Vast flowerbeds and gardens all brown and dormant. Everything shutting down, going into hibernation.

They made their way to the farthest corner of the campus, where the administration building sat. An old impressive structure built in some stark gothic style, all massive stone blocks and iron wrought detailing and torrented spires in the roof. Obvious British academia inspiration.

Jasper had only been in here a couple times, to confirm his courses and schedule. It had been a place he’d deliberately tried to avoid, resolved to spend his time at CIT focused on his _education_ and his _work_. His association with Miguel probably could have gained him access here, if he had played it _hard_. But, as with his time at Crimion Prep, he had no desire to get caught in the more nebulous schemes and chaos of Mytarri _high_ society. Not in _that_ way…

No, his focus had always been deliberately on _himself_. On directly improving himself through his skills and studies.

And the Crimion Institute of Technology had been, without doubt, the best university option for him to do that. It was by far the best university in Crimimiss for technical studies, and had been Jasper’s dream university for as long as he wanted to code… If you wanted any kind of career in technology, CIT was where you needed to go. And so… _everyone_ did. Numerous children of suqua attended the school. Some children of metiah. A fair amount of _claimed_ suqua, mostly in graduate programs though.

Even a couple metiah attended the university. Though, Jasper was sure that more metiah attended this university than were officially counted. They were probably just hiding, _undeclared_. Most metiah tried to keep themselves undeclared until they finished their education, not wanting to draw that kind of attention while in such a structured environment, like academia.

Anyways, this university really had the same crowd as at Crimion Prep, except just a more narrow swath of technical-minded, engineer types. But Jasper had wanted _nothing_ to do with it. He’d had more than enough of that fucking nonsense at Crimion Prep, when it had been _unavoidable_.

Yes, in all the ways that he actually was _knacky_ , playing with a larger web of elites had never had much appeal. He had more than enough going on in his _direct orbit_ than to try to take on any kind of grand political, societal schemes. Kind of ironic now, given his current situation…

But regardless, the administration building, and all the possibilities that came with that, had been avoided. And Jasper was sure that until very recently, Lyle Venter, the President of this Institute, had given Jasper no more than a passing thought. Jasper was sure he had far more pressing, powerful things to worry about than someone who maybe, might be _dalmata_ … even a maybe, might be dalmata to the likes of _Miguel de los Santos_.

Case in point.

“Jasper Montesquieu!”

They had just entered the administration building lobby. A grand open space of marble flooring and dark paneled walls, the sound of scurrying footsteps prominent and echoing as people rushed to various meetings and appointments.

Jasper flinched, startled immediately out of his thoughts.

Oh, fuck. This was _exactly_ why he’d avoided this building.

But he composed himself. Forced a smile.

“Cori Volkov,” he replied. He tried to accept the man’s greeting kisses gracefully, so glad he decided to wear a turtleneck sweater today. Though the marks on his neck were mostly faded… they hadn’t completely _gone_.

Cori pulled back, gave him a friendly clap on the arm.

“Haven’t seen you in ages, mate. How have you been?”

Jasper had to fight back a grimace. He observed the man in front of him, with his warm, small smile and sparkling, amused eyes.

Cori Volkov had been one of his classmates at Crimion Prep. He was not someone Jasper would ever consider a friend. In fact, on his best days, Jasper could barely _tolerate_ this nosy, entitled, spoiled … He forced himself to stop that train of thought.

Cori could be legitimately dangerous, so he needed a clear head here. Cori was the youngest son of Walton Volkov, a very well known, well respected and well connected metiah. And like any child of metiah, he was _destined_ to be suqua –it was a genetic and biologic _certainty_. And Jasper hadn’t seen Cori in at least a couple of years. He had no idea what the man could be playing with… or involved in.

“I’ve been good,” Jasper said, trying to keep his tone casual, “Been a bit busy lately, lots of coursework, exams coming up, you know. How about you? I didn’t think you went to CIT?”

Or maybe he did. Jasper didn’t fucking remember or really care.

“I haven’t,” Cori replied, “I’m thinking about taking a couple classes next semester.”

He paused, his smiling deepening a bit.

“Hey, how’s everything with that Ridgeview project? And how is Fitch Delford? Are you all still planning to go with him to New York next year?”

Some dark, sharp thoughts slithered in hearing this fucker talk about Fitch. Like Cori had any _right_ had to know about Fitch and their plans…

“He’s fine,” Jasper said, tersely, “It’s all fine. Schedule still all good last I heard.”

Cori nodded, a gleam growing in the back of his pupils.

“That’s great. Maybe I should call him…I’ve actually been really thinking about Ridgeview lately, you know? Getting out of Crimimiss for a while. And it would be so _good_ to catch up with Fitch…”

This conniving, entitled fuck.

Jasper forced himself to nod before the thoughts got uglier.

“Sure, Cori,” he said, “Well, sorry, but I have to get going.”

“Of course,” Cori said, his smile all too knowing, eyes all too amused, “Always good to see you, Jasper. ”

Jasper nodded again, and turned away.

The messenger, Nadine, had stood off the to side, watching this exchange with glistening eyes.

She smiled broadly at Jasper as he approached again, before leading him up the main marbles stairs, into the heart of the building.

Jasper tried to suppress all the venom that built up from that conversation. Fucking Cori Volkov…But he really couldn’t focus on that now. More immediate concerns.

They had clearly arrived at Lyle Venter’s office.

Nadine flashed him one last, lingering grin before knocking on the large oval door. She then opened it, popped her head inside.

“Lyle,” he heard her say, “Jasper Montesquieu is here.”

Some reply.

She turned back and pulled open the door, gesturing him inside.

And Jasper went – walking into another level of his new, insane reality.

He heard the door shut behind him as he entered the office space.

Dark walls lined with impressive artwork. Stone tiled floor, stone tiled massive fireplace. Leather sofas and a mammoth mahogany desk. An iron-latticed window revealing a spectacular vista of the original academic quad. It all felt sufficiently regal for as prestigious a institution as CIT was.

And in the midst of this grandeur, Lyle Venter. He was crouched down by the fire, adding a few more logs to the flames, toasty and atmospheric on this chilly December morning.

He turned when Jasper entered the room and stood up.

Jasper had seen him before, on a distant platform, during a handful of university addresses. He was handsome in a very classical sense. Sharp defined facial features. Clean shaven. Skin all golden brown and smooth. Neatly trimmed, short brown hair. Steady, calming, deep brown eyes.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” he said, tone rich, kind and warm.

“Lyle Venter.”

They exchanged the customary kisses on the cheeks.

Jasper forced all previous thoughts from his mind, and focused on this scene in front of him.

He was resolved and accepting of what would happen here. He could _manage_ this. 

He made himself catalog everything he observed here. Yes, he had seen Lyle in person a few times before. But always at a distance, on some grand, imposing stage, making a proclamation or announcement.

Now, close up and alone, in the privacy of his office, Jasper didn’t find him as icy or as authoritative as his public persona had made him appear.

He seemed authentically personable, _warm_. And most intriguing – he seemed clearly and obviously _fascinated_ with Jasper. And he made no trouble to hide it. Like his assistant Nadine, he eyed Jasper intently, giving him more than a few once-overs.

It was rather bewildering.

Mytarri age was always difficult to determine. The stronger a Mytarri – the better their relationship with the _amma_ – they could age at quite varying rates, with lifespans that often topped three centuries.

Lyle could have been anywhere from 75 - 150 years old, if Jasper had to guess. And as far as Jasper could remember, Lyle had been President of CIT for _decades_ at least. That in itself implied a specific level of competency, of _power_. It would be borderline impossible to continually manage all the politics and power plays that came with running such a prestigious institution for so long. So many parties with so many, many different agendas involved.

To have the clear interest of a stranger who controlled that…Jasper wasn’t used to this kind of attention.

“How are you doing today, Jasper?” Lyle said, “Off to good week?”

“Well, I hope,” Jasper replied, “It’s been busy so far.”

Lyle smiled.

“I’m sure. Well, thank you for with meeting me. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Jasper went to a chair in front of the grand desk. Lyle took his seat behind the table, leaning back, head tilted thoughtfully as he observed the student in front of him. Small smile. Deep eyes that clearly swirled in thought.

“Well,” he said, after a spell of silence had dragged in the impressive space, “I received an interesting phone call this weekend from Miguel de los Santos.”

He let that sentence hang there for a while.

Despite everything, Jasper kept breathing steadily. He almost felt a sense of _calm_ … Or maybe that was just the _resignation_. He could _manage_ this. He would manage this… _However_ , it became apparent after a few moments that Lyle expected him to respond.

So Jasper breathed out, and looked the university President straight in the eyes.

“I presume it was about my scholarship.”

Lyle just kept smiling. He leaned further back in his chair, a hand rubbing his chin as the thoughts whirled.

“Yes, of course.” Then he said, “ You know, Jasper, Anthony Shamin attended this school. That was almost thirty years ago now. Before your time. It was quite a _tumultuous_ period, for all involved.”

Interesting. Yes, Jasper had known that Miguel’s suqua, Tony, had gone to CIT. For a couple years at least. But he had never really thought too much about _the timing_ of that…

About thirty years ago… that would have been around when Miguel first _claimed_ Tony. _Tumultuous_ then was an extremely diplomatic choice of word. Yes, it was before Jasper’s twenty-one years of existence had even started. But of course, he knew the story. Everyone in Crimimiss did. Miguel’s claim of Anthony Shamin had been incredibly _controversial_. It would have been a period of _utter chaos_.

Had Lyle been involved in that affair in some way? If so, _how_?

The other man saw the confusion brewing in Jasper’s eyes. He straightened up in his chair, leaned forward.

“Since then,” Lyle continued, “Let’s just say, I have largely avoided dealings with Miguel de los Santos. And I have been more than _happy_ with that decision. So, when he called me, and told me that he wanted your scholarship cancelled, I can’t say I was thrilled about this new development.”

Jasper just focused on his breathing.

Fucking Miguel.

But this was as Jasper _expected._ Still, it _hurt_ to have Lyle say this to him, so matter of fact. But really…he’d just been waiting for this. 

After the initial shock of hearing about his brother’s military dismissal and his parent’s mortgage, it seemed inevitable that Miguel would pull this significant financial string.

For the past couple of years, Miguel had been _embedding_ Jasper. This was common practice before a dalmata claim. Metiah would gradually interweave their influence into all tangible aspects of a person’s life – financial, educational, career prospects. It was all about the _control_ and to make for a seamless transition after a _legal_ claim was issued. 

And for Jasper, this embedding had really _started_ with his scholarship to CIT. Miguel had agreed to be Jasper’s reference, which essentially _guaranteed_ him whatever scholarship to whatever university he wanted. It was all part of _the game_.

If Miguel had been courting him for suqua, it would have been entirely different. There would be _no_ financial embedding, of course. 

_(Nothing material, monetary or influential given.)_

But to prepare for a dalmata claim, there was a lot more flexibility. So while Miguel wouldn’t outright pay for his tuition, Jasper knew that he had, in a sense, _bought_ him this scholarship. In referring Jasper for a scholarship, Miguel had probably committed to some donation or some other arrangement with the school. Miguel certainly had not shared any details about it with him. 

No, Fitch had just told him one day that Miguel would be his scholarship reference… And that was that. But at the time, why would he have wanted differently? No, at the time, he had been so, so _grateful_ …

But now, Miguel was taking it back. Pulling the strings…

And after what he had shown he was willing to do, hurting Jasper’s _family_ , Jasper had fully expected and accepted that he would do something similar (and most likely _worse_ ) directly to him.

The scholarship was an obvious move.

The question – the _real_ question – Where did this leave him with the school? With Lyle?

“So what happened?” Jasper asked, eventually, “What did you say to Miguel? Are you going to cancel the scholarship?”

There was another long pause. Lyle just stared at him with these intrigued, yet strangely _kind_ eyes. 

But when he finally spoke, it did nothing to _reassure_ Jasper.

“You really don’t know anything about this, do you?” Lyle said.

And Jasper felt a distinct _crack_ in his calm façade.

“I’m not following you,” Jasper managed, “What are you talking about?”

“Well,” Lyle continued, “Of course, I told Miguel that the scholarship would be cancelled. I really don’t want to be involved with him any more than absolutely needed. And so now it’s done, clean and simple. And we don’t ever have to talk about it again.”

Jasper’s heart rate had increased rapidly.

What the fuck was Lyle getting at?

“So, my scholarship is done now? Cancelled?”

The smile on Lyle’s face began to shift. An amused edge now, more of a smirk.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” he said, slowly, clearly, “ That is was I told Miguel. To keep it simple, clean. But as for the scholarship…there was nothing to cancel. How could there be? You are not enrolled in this university.”

Shell-shocked.

Jasper was utterly shell-shocked. His mind raced to make _sense_ of what Lyle was saying.

This could not be _farther_ from the conversation he’d expected to have. He’d come here fully anticipating some kind of deal – some loan, or other sort of student aid, to cover the loss of scholarship.

And yes, he had _hoped_ , perhaps for a little _leniency_. When this all started, Carson had told him about some vague gossip. That Quinn and Lyle were friendly, had some dealings together… Of course, in the context of a prestigious university, with connections to _numerous_ metiah, who knew what that might even _mean_. But Jasper’s _hope_ had been for some little consideration. Maybe none of the typical hyper-aggressive interest rates on the loan, maybe some payment _deferral_ …

He had never…

Just, what?

What the _fuck_ was happening here?

He wasn’t _enrolled_ in this university? What the fuck did that even mean?

Some wave of nausea crashed over him, as the thoughts spiraled in his mind.

Lyle watched all of this silently, leaning back in his chair.

Finally, Jasper was able to form coherent words.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying at all,” he managed, “I’m not enrolled as a student here? That doesn’t make any sense. What are you telling me?”

Lyle met his gaze, calm and steady.

“Well,” he started, “I mean that you are not a registered student at the Crimion Institute of Technology. And that you have no enrollment record or record of any studies or courses. And certainly no record of any scholarship.”

What nonsensical, mind fuckery was that?

An insane, slowly churning anger was starting to build. Jasper struggled for control.

“Well, Lyle,” Jasper started, “I clearly remember enrolling in this Institute. And I have completed almost a year and a half of studies now. So when exactly were these changes made to my records?”

“Oh, about two months ago.”

Holy fuck.

Jasper found himself blinking rapidly. His eyes were going to bulge out of his head. A wave of implications had crashed over him, a tsunami. Devastating.

“Lyle,” Jasper said, softly, controlling himself, “How do you know Quinn Sabian?”

And Lyle’s smile just deepened. It wasn’t a cruel expression, but it definitely wasn’t kind…

“That sounds like a perfect question to ask Quinn Sabian.”

Oh, fuck this.

“I see then. Well, just a couple other questions for you. ” Jasper leaned forward, resting his elbow on Lyle’s desk, “Mainly, if I’m not enrolled at this university, what _the fuck_ does that actually mean? I mean, my student ID still works. I’m still going to classes. I’m still scheduled for exams in a couple weeks. Is any of this going to change?”

Lyle shrugged. Looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh.

“That’s really entirely up to you, Jasper. If you still want to take courses, still want to take exams, then by all means do so. No one is going to stop you. No one at this university at least.”

Some tremor had manifested in his body, shaking his veins. He could feel his blood starting to boil.

Jasper could barely stop from _screaming_.

“Alright then. But eventually, I will need a _diploma_. I will need a _transcript_ of my academic record. I actually will need a transcript very soon, for my Vendetti application. So, if I’m not a registered student, how will I get those things?”

Lyle nodded thoughtfully, made some noncommittal noise.

“Well, I can understand why you think you might need those things. But then again, you might not. You might not need them at all.”

Some white rage exploded. He needed to get out here _now_.

“Thank you, Lyle Venter,” Jasper said, standing up., “This has been an eye-opening conversation. Is there anything else you had wanted to talk with me about?”

“No. No, not today Jasper Montesquieu.”

Lyle just smiled at him, watching him intently as Jasper stood up. His eyes _glimmered_.

“Fantastic then. Well, if you’ll excuse me.”

And Jasper fled the office. Fled the administration building. Out into the frigid day winter, but he barely felt the cold, the anger keeping him nice and warm. 

He grabbed his phone from his pocket as he stormed across campus.

And called Quinn.

The metiah picked up quickly. The connection was poor. A lot of noise in the background, like machinery.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” he said, warbled baritone voice still rich and enveloping.

“Quinn Sabian. We need to talk.”

A pause.

“Well… we’re on the phone now…”

“In person. Where are you?”

“Oh, okay. That kind of _talk_. Well, I’m at the place now. Come on by.”

And Quinn hung up.

Scowling, Jasper rushed back through campus, back over to Carson’s office.

He barged in, sending his advisor jumping from behind his computer monitors.

“Jay—” he started.

“Carson,” Jasper interjected, “I just thought of a great way that you can help me.”

“Yes. Of course. What do you need?”

“I need to borrow your car.”

His advisor just stared at him from his desk, blinking.

“NOW.”

“Oh right,” Carson was suddenly fumbling with his pockets. He tossed Jasper’s his keys.

“Thanks.”

“Wait, Jay, when will you bring—?”

But Jasper was already out the door.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took him an annoyingly long time to find Quinn’s hideaway. He hadn’t been paying the best attention when they’d driven here a few days ago. And now he was _angry_. Distracted. He got lost quite a few times. Even when he finally found the street they’d turned off from, it took him a better part of an hour to find the exact opening in the chainlink fence. It was really well hidden. Just some sliver that looked like a normal, wear and tear rip, rather than the entrance to a drive.

Navigating the scrapyard was worse. In the harsh winter sunlight, everything looked even more apocalyptic. Just piles of totaled cars, appliances, furniture and various other junk. It was really like a scifi film – fields of rubble from some nuclear fallout.

But finally, Jasper managed his way through the maze of debris. He saw the dilapidated warehouse building, some light coming from the interior.

And a couple pickup trucks parked out front. One looked like Quinn’s, the other was unknown.

Jasper parked Carson’s hybrid sedan next to them. Stepped outside into the cold day. Some sharp, metallic noises echoed from the building. The whirl of an engine.

He took a step forward.

“Stop the fuck there!”

A deep voiced boomed in the desolate place.

And Jasper found himself frozen.

Staring at the barrel of a shotgun.

The man holding the gun looked pissed. And dangerous. Though he looked older, with greying hair and a face weathered with some prominent lines, he was still _jacked_. Some tower of muscle that stretched the multiple layers of sweatshirts that he wore. His lips were twisted in some sneer, his dark eyes glaring.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man demanded.

Jasper felt his heart in his throat. Pulse spiked to insane levels.

“I’m – I’m just here to see to Quinn Sabian.”

That clearly had been the _wrong_ answer.

The man cocked the gun, aiming right at his head.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Hey! Hey. Easy everyone. Easy.”

Quinn had appeared, striding briskly over to the scene.

“Put the fucking gun down, Kev. You're scaring the shit out him. Jasper, this is Kevin McNully. Kev, this is Jasper Montesquieu.”

Kevin lowered his weapon, watching Quinn with intent, narrowed eyes.

Quinn had come to stand besides Jasper. He wrapped an arm over his shoulders, rubbing the sleeve of Jasper’s jacket. The message clear and possessive.

Kevin just scowled.

“The fuck?”

“The fuck yourself. Now go, fuck off.”

And with some incomprehensible grunt, Kevin turned and walked away. Disappearing between some piles of machinery.

Jasper began breathing again, as Quinn led him into the ramshackled warehouse.

“Sorry about Kevin,” he was saying as they went inside, “He’s not that good with new people. Kind of shy, you know? Takes a while to open up.”

Jasper didn’t respond.

He observed the space around him. Different than when he was last here. Some fluorescent lights illuminated the space. Wooden tables upright covered with an array of tools and equipment. Some heaps of machinery scraps that looked fresher, neater.

Quinn guided him over to what looked like a work station. Pulled over a couple chairs, and they both sat down.

Jasper took in Quinn’s appearance. He wore some ratty jeans and some tattered, ripped sweatshirt. Some frayed beanie pulled over his blonde hair, that was tied back in another haphazard bun. He was covered in grease and oil marks. Black smudges on his face. His hands looked dark, fingernails caked in grime.

But he was smiling. All good natured and chill. Sat in the seat with his usual languid ease. Brown eyes _glimmering_ , assessing Jasper. Peach-colored lips that looked a little red and raw from the winter temperature. 

Jasper blinked, breaking that train of thought. He forced the unnerving encounter with Kevin out his mind, and brought himself back to the matter at hand. Yes… _Why he was here_.

“So,” Quinn prompted, all smiles, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yes,” Jasper answered, hating how soft his voice sounded.

He forced himself to inhale, taking a fortifying breath.

“I just spoke with Lyle Venter today. He told me some _very interesting_ news.”

“Oh, did he now?” Quinn said, eyes getting even _brighter_.

“Yes. He kindly informed me that I was no longer a registered student at CIT. That I was no longer enrolled there. And it seems that this change, this change that was very _unknown_ to me, went into effect around the time that we met.”

“Fascinating.”

“Fascinating – really? Is that all you have to say?”

And Quinn flashed Jasper a bright grin.

“Sure. What else would there be?”

The blood boiled again. He leaned forward in his chair, closing the space between them.

“Well, how about,” Jasper hissed, “Did you do you this? And if so, how? _How_ is this possible? But more importantly, _why?_ This is my fucking _education_ , Quinn Sabian. I’m not going to be toyed this way.”

“You think this is toying?” Quinn said. He moved forward too, so their knees connected. Placed his hands on Jasper’s jeans, the touch jolting and thrilling. “Jasper, if I wanted to toy with you, it wouldn’t be like this. If wanted to toy with you, I would have let Miguel take away your scholarship and drown you in some ridiculous debt that you have no ability to pay back. I would have sat back and watched that happen, and you would have thought it nothing more than an act of vengeance from Miguel. Until, of course, you didn’t.”

What the fuck was this metiah talking about? But the implications of this were… _distant_. A _distraction_ about the future. He had more immediate issues to rectify. No time to dive in hypothetical fantasies.

“So you think this is some kind of protection?”

“Yes, I thought that would be obvious. It’s impossible to harm something that doesn’t _exist_.”

“Fuck. You.” Jasper snarled. “You had no right to take this away from me. Not matter what _scheme_ you’ve got with Lyle, this isn't just about me taking courses at CIT. I need an academic transcript. I’ll need a _diploma_. I need that _recognition_. And you took that away. ”

And Quinn actually laughed, a dark, rich noise that seemed to coil itself around Jasper.

Oh fuck this.

He pushed himself back out of Quinn’s hold, and stood up. Moved over Quinn, leaning into his space, glaring down at him, their faces less than an inch apart.

“You think this is fucking funny? I’ve worked my whole fucking life, Quinn Sabian, to get into this university. This has been the culmination of all my work. I’m not going to let you fuck this up in any way because you think it’s _convenient_. I’ve never asked for your protection in this, and I don’t _want_ it. And you’re going to give back my registration, or I swear to the Gods, I’m going directly to Miguel, and I’ll deal with him.”

Quinn wasn’t laughing anymore. His amber eyes were _on fire_ , his pupils dilated to the size of galaxies. He looked _entranced_. Possessed. 

“Are you actually threatening me with this?” He asked, voice barely a whisper, their lips millimeters from each other.

“Did I fucking stutter?”

The world shifted. Quinn surged up, grabbing Jasper. There was a violent swipe, Quinn shoving some tools and machine parts aside on the workstation. Then he threw Jasper on down on the tabletop. His back met the broad wooden surface with a sharp clap, the only thing breaking his fall was Quinn’s hand on the back of his head, protecting his skull, his neck…

But Quinn wasn’t being gentle now. He pushed himself between Jasper’s knees. He grabbed Jasper’s wrists, pining them to either side of his face. His hands felt like titanium circled around his arms. Too strong. Almost impossibly strong.

Quinn pressed himself into Jasper, keeping his legs apart, rendering the younger man immobile under his weight.

Jasper could hear how fast he was breathing. He felt flushed everywhere, feverish, unwell, insane… The adrenaline was almost too much.

What he had done? What was happening?

The anger still coursed through him, but it was twisted with arousal… with anticipation.

Quinn leered down at him, eyes like stakes into his. Piercing penetration. He looked _wild._

“Jasper Montesquieu,” he said, in a tone that dripped over him like honey - thick, lush, sweetly _addictive_ , “Listen to me clearly. I want there to be no _misunderstanding_ between us.”

He leaned down deeper, their lips so close again.

“I’ve taken _nothing_ from you. No transcripts. No diploma. None of the clout you covet from the prestige of the school. If you want it in the end, it’s all there. No strings attached. The only thing that is different is I’ve cut the obligation to Miguel. And I only had Lyle tell you this today because I wanted you to understand you were _free_ of that.

“But if you want that obligation back, then go get it. You have to understand though that this will be the end of things for us. I won’t continue if you want to go back to him now. I can’t.”

Jasper struggled to breath, crushed under the weight of those words, and the intensity of Quinn’s gaze.

There was too much to process there. But the important part was that the metiah was forcing him to _choose_. Forcing to him to remove any ambiguity. But also forcing Jasper to _let go_. To let go of his _power_ , the power of his choice.

Could Jasper give that up? Could he give up all the power he had obtained so many painstaking years with Miguel?

In his heart, of course, he knew the answer.

_(He’d already had.)_

But still… Jasper needed something _more_. He couldn’t allow Quinn to play him like this, unrestrained and invasive, affecting the _real substance_ of his life. Quinn had not earned that privilege, that power. _Not even close_. 

“I understand you,” Jasper said, staring up those bright, burning eyes, “But you also need to understand me. I’m not your plaything, to be moved around by your whims. And I will protect myself and those I love by any and all means necessary. 

“I don’t want my obligation back to Miguel, and I will not go back to him. But I definitely don’t have any obligation to you. You claim to have not toyed with me in this move. If I find otherwise, I _will_ find a way to hurt you in this. That I can promise.”

Quinn nodded, his gaze so longing, so fucking _hungry_.

“My gorgeous, knacky _Tes_ … If you knew what I wanted to do with you…”

“Show me then,” Jasper said. He squeezed his thighs around Quinn’s side, drawing the metiah down further into him. He arched neck up as high as he could in this position. Pressed his lips against Quinn’s. Fleeting touch.

Quinn smelled like sweat and motor oil and dirt and earth and the core of the fucking planet. He felt like heaven on top of him, this overwhelming, intoxicating force pushing into him.

He chased down Jasper’s mouth. Pushed him back against the table. His tongue pillaged into him, ravenous, consuming. His lips sucked at his. _Bliss_.

“Quinn!”

Quinn ripped off Jasper, snarling.

“What the actual fuck, Kev?”

“The wiring blew up again.”

“I swear to the fucking Gods,” Quinn muttered. He released his hold of Jasper’s wrists, heaved himself upright. He turned a murderous gaze to the open warehouse door, where the hooded silhouette of Kevin’s head was visible.

“Go to the south field with the rig. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

And Kev’s shadow slipped away.

Quinn turned back to Jasper, who was still sprawled out on the table. Trying to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry about that,” the metiah said, rueful smile on, “Again, Kevin is not great with new people.”

“I think you’re trying to kill me,” Jasper said, forcing himself to sit up on the table. His legs felt weak. The arousal still crashed through him, a demanding weight in his groin.

“Well, yes. Of course.” He leaned over and kissed him softly. Light, teasing touch. “I do have to go though. And you should head home.”

“Quinn,” Jasper called out, as the metiah turned to leave, “Are you meeting with Miguel soon?”

Quinn turned back around.

“Yes, tomorrow. I can hardly wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kevin's actually great... in his own way. 
> 
> Anyways, lots going on here. Crazy amount of world building. Quinn is very conniving... But really setting the scene for the next chapter. Spoiler alert - It's from Miguel's point of view :) 
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	8. La Question C'est Voulez-Vous

“And here we go again  
We know the start, we know the end  
Masters of the scene  
We've done it all before  
And now we're back to get some more  
You know what I mean  
  


Voulez-vous  
Take it now or leave it  
Now it's all we get  
Nothing promised, no regrets  
Voulez-vous  
Ain't no big decision  
You know what to do  
La question c'est voulez-vous”

-ABBA, “Voulez-vous”

_Miguel – Another Interlude_

“What is this?” Benji called out.

Miguel entered the dining room. Everyone was already gathered around the table, chatting away, absorbed with dinner. The group tonight was all _his_ – his suqua, his Delfords and a couple of their lovers. The _best_ group of course – no outsiders. And they all looked up as he arrived.

He stuck an exaggerated pose, earning some catcalls from around the room.

“How do I look?” He asked, batting his eyelashes, flashing a grin at the gang.

“Damn, Miga,” Benji called back, laughing, “You trying to get lucky tonight?”

“No trying. No luck.”

He walked over to the table, coming up behind Tony’s chair. He put his hands on his suqua’s shoulders finding tense, hard knots of muscle. His sweet, protective babe.

He started massaging the tight tendons, squeezing out the tension, his thumbs digging into some problematic areas around the base of his neck. Tony shifted, leaning into his touch.

Benji watched Miguel and his brother from the across table, eyes sparkling.

“So what’s the deal with this date?” the younger Shamin asked, “I thought you didn’t know this metiah at all.”

“Mmm hmm.” Miguel said, increasing the pressure of his massage, “I’ve never spoken to Quinn Sabian before, except this week. So it’s a really a _blind_ date, you know? I want to make a good impression.”

He shot more flirtatious eyes at Benji, who just shook his head again, looking his metiah over.

Miguel knew how he looked. Instead of his usual – the neat, dark denim, the cute, patterned collared shirts, the argyle sweaters, the black framed glasses – he’d opted for a look he’d call _conservative slut_. Skintight black jeans, feather-fine cashmere sweater that stretched across his chest, his black hair styled rakishly off his face, no glasses. He looked enticing yet _approachable_. It was a lovely, obvious costume … but really only _his_ would understand the extent of the trap…

“Sure, sure, sure,” Benji said, all sing-song and smiles, “A good impression.”

He leaned back in his seat. Benji’s lover Artem was besides him tonight, an arm draped over his chair. Miguel watched as Benji reached over and grabbed Artem’s thigh, clearly intrigued and excited about the prospect of tonight’s adventure. 

His brother though, as usual, was the opposite – still tense under his hands. 

Tony suddenly arched his neck up in Miguel’s hold, looking him in the eyes.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asked.

Deep, brilliant black eyes. Brimming with intelligence, _concern_.

Miguel leaned over and kissed him hard, despite the upside-down angle. Tony became immediately pliant under him, lush and yielding. _His_. And not just his – his _first_. His _veikala_. His second in command, the one responsible if everything went to catastrophe. And granted, sometimes it could feel like that was happening. But not today. Not now.

Miguel broke the kiss. Carded his fingers through the spiraling, black curls, pulling on them lightly.

“Tony,” he said, “You don’t need to worry about this. Everything will be fine.”

“But how could he know about Lemon? It doesn’t make any sense. And then with CIT – you know I don’t trust Lyle Venter. The man is an absolute _snake_. I’m sure he’s slithered into this somehow.”

Well, Miguel had his own theories about Lyle, but there was no point in sharing that with Tony. Not yet.

He grabbed Tony’s chair, and spun it round so the man was facing him. And then promptly straddled him, cradling his face between his hands.

“All fair points,” Miguel said, pressing himself into his suqua. He loved the sensation of Tony under him. His amma in pulsed in his veins, in his _hands_ , a pure, overwhelming desire. “And that’s why I’m meeting him in the first place. Because maybe, just maybe, this little ghost is _interesting_. Or maybe not. Either way, I get to play with a knacky metiah. And you know how much I _love_ to play with knacky metiah.”

Miguel grinned, wide and sunny. And Tony couldn’t help but return the smile slightly. His hands had wound over Miguel’s hips, pulling him forward on his lap, closer. The friction felt great, delicious teasing.

“Oh, I’m very aware,” Tony replied, his pupils dilating as memories sparked, “It’s one of your favorite things.”

“Exactly. Everything is going to be fine, pet.”

He felt Tony shiver under him from the familiar endearment. That was one of their words they used often in their games, though Miguel didn’t usually play like that with Tony outside of sex. But his protective suqua seemed to _need_ it now.

He leaned forwarded, brushing his lips against his ear, speaking low enough for only them to hear.

“Don’t go to Anya tonight,” Miguel said, “I want you to stay in my rooms. I want you to sleep in my bed. And I want you to stay there until I get back.”

Tony pulled back a bit. The lust was bright in his eyes, but also the _understanding_. Tony knew what Miguel also meant. _Not to follow him._

“And when will you be back?” Tony asked.

“Soon,” Miguel promised, vaguely. He kissed him again, short and possessive. And then he was up. Off of Tony’s lap.

“Will, come on. Let’s go.”

He didn’t look to see if the other man was compiling. He began to exit the dining room.

“Miga!” He heard Fitch call out.

“No, Fitch,” he said, not turning around, “After.”

He needed to make sure there was zero opportunity for Fitch to say anything silly to him. Like how he was regretting this or how he didn’t want to hurt his friend Jasper. They could sort out all of those lovely sentiments afterwards. Right now… Now was the time to _focus_.

Despite his reassurances to Tony, this was, of course, _dangerous_. Quite dangerous, actually – dealing with an _unknown_ metiah. And not just an unknown metiah, but one who seemed to have spent a great amount of resources and effort removing all records of himself and his affairs beyond a few flimsy shreds of nothing.

But that just made it seem all the more _promising_. A potential to be _interesting_.

Still though, not for his suqua. Not for Fitch. No, they all needed to stay well and far away from this, until Miguel got a better understanding of this _Quinn Sabian_.

The footsteps finally caught up to him. Miguel glanced back at William Delford and smiled wide.

“You ready for another adventure, Will?”

Will just sighed and looked away.

Yes. His suqua needed to stay away from this. His Will on the other hand…

Well, Will pretty much went everywhere with him. And these things in particular just tended to be a lot more _fun_ with Will involved.

They winded their way down through the Estate. Stopped in the small room outside of the garage.

Miguel brought his hand on the scan on the large cabinet. Typed in the code on the screen.

The doors slid open revealing a large cache of weapons.

Some a lot more extreme than others.

“How hairy do you think it’s going to get tonight?” Will asked, grabbing his usual handgun, loading in a new clip.

“On a scale of nothing to Muscat, I’d say this would be a solid Honolulu – that time with Keito.”

Will arched a skeptical brow. Miguel grabbed a few knives, passing most to Will, but he slide a couple into place in his ankle boots.

“So nothing,” Will confirmed, “You think this Quinn Sabian is going to come alone then?”

“Oh, that I’m quite certain about that. This is not a person who’s going to be introducing us to any of his friends anytime soon. And definitely not anyone he _owns_.”

“What about hired hands?”

“Hired hands in Crimimiss that we don’t know?”

Will made a contemplative noise. He holstered his gun under his jacket, knives stashed in various pockets, strapped to various appendages.

“Well, we don’t know _everyone_. And even if we did… I don’t trust the situation at all. Who fucking agrees to meet at the Club if you’re not a member?”

“Someone who is desperate. Or someone who is _motivated_.” Miguel replied, beaming.

A ghost of a smile touched Will’s lips. Exasperated but fond.

“You are such a fucking piece of work, Miga.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

They entered the garage. Expansive concentrate structure brimming with garishly ostentatious vehicles.

Miguel grabbed the keys to one of the Land Rovers off the wall. Sometimes he liked to bring out the really ridiculous toys – the Bugatti, the Maybach, the Lykan. But tonight wasn’t that night. No tonight.

They was a difference between being public and being _loud_.

Best not to attract _too_ much attention until more was understood.

He tossed the keys to Will.

And they climbed into the SUV, Will in the driver’s seat. Then they were off.

Will navigated them down from the Estate, through the Eastern Mountains on the private, winding switchback road. It was a beautiful winter night in Crimimiss. Black and clear, the stars out in celestial abundance. Snowcapped peaks around them. And below the city sprawled so luminous and vibrant with its vast stretches of pearly white stone buildings.

“I called Devin,” Miguel said, as they started the descent, “He sounded like he was going to have an orgasm on the phone. So’s he probably gone way too far with the service, but you can reel it back in if needed.”

Will nodded. “But you’re going to keep all your plans and expectations only to yourself tonight. Too risky otherwise. Too much unknown. ”

No question in Will’s tone. Just statements of fact.

Miguel couldn’t the stop the genuine smile from forming.

He looked over at the man in the driver’s seat – all chiseled facial features, deep-set caramel eyes, dark stubble, wild hair that was a mix of brown and auburn hues. He looked almost exactly the same as when Miguel had met him about twenty years ago. And during those couple of decades his love for him had cemented into something deep and fierce.

“Yes, exactly Will.”

“And so no one within earshot then. Just enough of tease to stoke the greedy curiosity. But absolutely nothing _absolute_. That won’t be an issue. I’ll take care of Devin’s minions.”

“I know you will.”

Yes, of the many reasons he loved Will, the one that always seemed to shock him most was Will’s _perception_ , his near immediate understanding of the situation. His near immediate understanding of _Miguel_. And with that had ultimately come Miguel’s trust.

Yes, in many ways, William Delford was the person he trusted _most_.

He reached over and squeezed Will’s wrist by the steering wheel. The other man glanced down at the contact for a second, then set his eyes back on the road.

But he didn’t twist out of the hold, which by Will’s standards was almost obscenely affectionate.

Miguel released his grip and settled back in the passenger seat, still observing him on the driver’s side. For the hundredth millionth time he found himself wondering if Will had been Mytarri…

But no. Of course not. Then none of this would have happened. Then none of this _could_ happen. He loved his Will for what he was – a sharp, intense _New Yorker_ with a wild streak a mile wide and an unflappable deadpan and sarcastic sense of humor. A complex soul formed from a myriad of influences, often conflicting and contradicting. He was an ocean of person like few truly were. Some of the deepest layers almost _unfathomable_. No, Miguel wouldn’t change what Will was for the world. But… he just couldn’t help himself… He just always wanted _everything_ , absolutely everything, from those that were _his_. And if Will had been Mytarri, he could have had _more_ …

“I heard back from Yami,” Miguel continued, breaking that train of thought, “He finished his dive, and he still really has no fucking idea who leaked anything about Lemon to Quinn Sabian’s web. Which mostly leads to more questions than answer – except that now we now for fact that Yami is _useless_.”

Will just scowled. His eyes narrowed on some point ahead.

“I still think it was Jasper Montesquieu somehow.”

Miguel couldn’t help but laugh. Will was _funny_.

“No, you don’t. You know he doesn’t know anything about this. You’re just upset that he hurt your son. Understandable, of course. My protective papa bear.”

Will met his eyes, gaze flat and unimpressed.

“I liked Jasper,” he said, “I thought he was a good kid. I thought he was smarter than this.”

Miguel smirked back, all teeth.

“I _like_ Jasper,” he countered, “And he is smarter than this. He’s just caught up in the thrill and inexperienced in these things. Which is very, very good. _Perfect_ actually. So perfect ... But he’s not a kid anymore, papa. You know, kids do grow up.”

He looked at back at Will meaningfully, who just slowly shook his head. 

“Miga,” he said, in that exaggerated exasperation.

“Mine,” Miguel replied, smiling wide. He reached over and traced the side of Will’s face with his fingers. The man accepted his touch easily again. Satisfied, Miguel pulled away.

Turned on the music. ABBA started blaring. He couldn’t help but sing along. It was physically impossible not to sing along to ABBA.

_“I’m really glad you came, you know the rules, you know the game. Masters of scene…_ Oh Will, I hope tonight will be _fun_.”

“God help us,” he heard Will mutter.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Club was busy. The Club was always busy. The oldest metiah club in Crimimiss, legend had it that the structure was styled after the Harem of Babylon. It lay sprawled and enticing in the center of the ancient plaza in the city heart. All polished limestone and Persian columns and domes. This massive temple devoted to no spiritual entity but to the most sublime pleasure of their people – the love of _power_.

They left the car with the valet and walked up the imposing steps to the grand entrance. Even on this cold, dark December evening, these steps were always guarded by a small militia of security, set to manage any misguided fool from entering the premises without proper invitation.

At first sight of Miguel, they all ducked away, leaving a clear unobstructed path.

He didn’t spare any of this a glance, moving briskly to the interior. Will followed him a couple paces behind, silent and alert.

They entered through the monolithic arch into the cavernous receiving chamber. Fires blazed in the mass hearths on each side of the space – the light fluid and flickering orange, illuminating the hand-painted mosaic tiles that lined the walls, the columns, the domed ceiling. Arriving at the Club always felt like entering some ancient epic. A timeless place, free of the confines and structure of modern society.

The receiving chamber bustled tonight, filled with Club staff and members and their guests, all immersed in their wheelings and dealings. 

A wave of Mytarri gaze crashed over him as he journeyed through the space. The familiar whiplash of sharpened eyes and pointed smiles. He didn’t break his pace or direction, just absorbed the murmurs around him.

_“Miguel de los Santos just walked in.”_

_“DLS here tonight – Fuck, here we go.”_

_“Should be a show tonight. None of his suqua though.”_

_“Always with that mort pet…”_

Miguel listened to it all with a small, cruel smile of his own, relishing their curiosity, anticipation, excitement, disdain, disapproval, fascination … Miguel _loved_ it all. He’d long the accepted the intensity of this spotlight. For decades now, every movement of his was watched eagerly for controversy, tension and scandal. It was inevitable given his _position_ , his situation. Nearly every person in Crimimiss had followed the story of his life, with a voracious appetite for all the gritty, dirty, tantalizing details. And over the years, he’d learned to play with this _obsession_ of him. Mold it and contort it for whatever purpose he liked or wanted. And for all the inconveniences that came with a life in the public eye, he _loved_ this attention and its power.

Like now, everyone was watching as the proprietor of this Club – easily one of the most powerful non-metiah Mytarri in the world – raced after him, as Miguel strode past all the receiving staff in the grand chamber and moved swiftly in the heart of Club.

“Miguel de los Santos,” Devin called out, finally catching up to him.

Miguel did pause, pivoting towards the approaching man.

“Devin Andorra.”

Devin came to stop right in front of him. His eyes gleamed like the Las Vegas strip. He mouth stretched in a wide, obscene grin.

“I’ve arranged everything as you’ve asked. I just wanted to see if you wanted any of mine for the evening. Whatever you –”

“No, Devin.” And he turned away, with an exaggerated roll his eyes, mostly for their onlookers’ sake. Will had already stepped in, blocking Devin from following after Miguel.

To say Devin Andorra was obsessed with him would be an extreme understatement. But Miguel didn’t have any illusions about the cause of this. Devin wasn’t metiah, but clearly and desperately thought he should be. So in the absence of that power, he had become _addicted_ to money. And it was common knowledge that Miguel had one of, if not, _the_ largest cash reserve in Crimimiss, and certainly some of the most substantial _wealth_. 

So Miguel strung Devin along with some grotesquely generous tips, in exchange for carte blanche to do whatever he wanted at the Club. It was a privilege that Miguel had no problem paying for – especially because almost no one else could pay for it. The only problems arose when Devin thought Miguel wanted him to be more involved. Miguel really wanted nothing to do with Devin beyond a basic financial transaction. Every aspect of his self aggrandizing manner annoyed him. But it was still fun to degrade him a bit. Dismiss him and let his Will put him in his place.

No time to really enjoy that though.

No, he was here for a very different game tonight.

Miguel entered the main lounge of the Club. With multiple levels and areas and nooks and crooks. It was a vast space, teeming with life and activity. At the far end was a stage. Curtains currently closed, it was a space for any and all performances. Usually at night these were sex shows or some other erotic demonstrations. Not tonight though. A slightly _different_ show tonight.

Miguel observed the rest of the room, checking everything was in order. 

The space was set in its typical fashion. Low-lying circular dens were occupied with groups, lounging around like a proper harem, seated on pillows around ground tables. The center portion was arranged as a dining room, with packed with people dining and drinking and laughing. Above were tiers of balconies. Private sections to observe the action below, but far away from prying eyes. Everything shadowed and cozy, the space only lit by low, atmosphere lights and the fires blazing in the corners.

This was just the main space though, the real public arena. Out back expansive gardens meandered, and below them was a maze of subterranean rooms for dancing and sex of a more private variety. Above the upper levels were filled with apartment-style suites, reserved for the wealthiest members. 

As a space it wasn’t so different from other Mytarri social clubs. In fact most had been modelled off this old place. What was so striking here were the people. Unlike other Mytarri clubs that focused on attracting a wide swath of the population, this Club catered _only_ to metiah or suqua… And not just any _metiah and suqua_. No, this wasn’t a place for the silly lambs the composed the vast majority of their ranks – the imposters that could growl and snarl a good game, but were in fact as harmless and useless as the rest of the plebeians who had infested this far too small world.

No, the people who belonged to this Club were all _invited_ , _curated_.

These were the metiah on the _High Council_ – the ones with the real, true power of Crimimiss. Whether painstakingly clawed out by their hands, or meticulously and covetously passed down through careful metiah bloodlines that stretched back centuries.

And while Miguel generally dismissed, or despised, most of the people in this Club – it was by far one of the most _useful_ collections of Mytarri in Crimimiss. 

And they were all looking at him.

He had paused on the perimeter of the room, making his observations. Just long enough to attract some attention of all the greedy eyes in the place. All trying to understand what _crazy_ Miguel de los Santos was up to now. And how they could _use_ it – use _him_. It was all a rather glorious waste of time.

He moved off the main floor and up to elevated section towards the back of the hall. It had the best vantage of the entire room. Normally it was filled with a few groups of particularly high-paying patrons. But tonight Miguel had the entire space for himself.

He took a seat at one of the tables on the back wall, leaning into the plush, cushioned booth. He could watch everyone in this space from this position, and everyone could watch him. But no one would hear a word discussed. It was _perfect_.

And so he waited. Patient as ever.

And eventually, Quinn Sabian walked in.

Miguel assessed him intensely. Prior to that moment, he really only had a vague recollection of what Quinn looked like, his image based on a couple memories from past General Assemblies and from a few haphazard photos he’d stumbled across in his research.

Quinn was quite handsome. Heart-shaped jaw, thick, peach-colored lips, bright amber eyes, golden tanned skin, striking blonde hair that was tied up in a topknot.

He wore simple dark jeans and a white crewneck sweater that clung to his tall, lanky frame. He was muscled in a way that looked more practical than cosmetic – the result of some actual physical labor. And he carried himself with a kind languid, easy saunter, movements all limber and fluid. Relaxed but _very_ self-assured.

Credit to Jasper Montesquieu where credit was due – He had picked an _attractive_ one.

The question, of course, was there anything beyond a pretty face?

Miguel stood up to greet the newcomer, smiling at him like he was an old friend.

“Quinn Sabian,” he said, walking towards him.

“Miguel de los Santos,” he replied, in a rich baritone tone.

They exchanged the customary kisses on the cheeks. Quinn smelled like… _petrol_ , strangely. And some other unique, distinct tang that clearly registered to Miguel as a _metiah_. It wasn’t a repellant quality, just more of an awareness from his amma that this was another Mytarri like him. Someone who had _claimed_ others and who could _claim_ again…

He moved to sit down again, and gestured from Quinn to join him. The other metiah slide into the booth seat, keeping a fair distance between them. He felt the eyes of the onlookers intensify – he could almost feel the _intrigue_ in their gaze – as the greedy minds were no doubt trying to figure out who this person was that Miguel de los Santos was meeting with.

In the corner of his view, he watched Will join them on this elevated platform. He sat a few tables away, in a more shadowed corner. Watching Miguel and Quinn but also observing the motions of the room. Within calling distance, but presumably out of earshot if talking low.

Quinn noted his presence too, his eyes tracking to Will. But he didn’t comment on it. He focused back on Miguel and smiled – a languid, causal expression.

And Miguel had to concede a point in Quinn’s favor for that. Most metiah would have immediately commented on Miguel’s _mort pet_.

Instead, Quinn said, “Thank you for meeting with me. I’m very glad that we’re finally able to talk."

“I’m sure you are,” Miguel replied, smiling back. “Do you want anything to drink? Eat? Smoke? Snort? What’s your poison, Quinn Sabian?”

“Just some water, thanks. And maybe a tea.”

“Oh, got it. You’re one of those anti-chemical ones. Natural, 100% certified organic self-control.”

“No,” Quinn said, laughing lightly, “I just keep it sober.”

Interesting. There was a small but established percentage of metiah that didn’t any drink alcohol or take any kind of recreational drugs. They didn’t like the effect it had themselves, and worried indulging at all would affect their judgement, their self-control…and in turn lead to harm of their suqua. Miguel didn’t subscribe to that belief. There was obviously a difference between being a drunk, high wreck and having a glass of wine with dinner. And Miguel thought if you were worried about the effect of a glass on wine on your ability to be metiah, then you really had no business owning suqua in the first place. But there was something in Quinn’s tone that suggested something _more_ to the story than a puritanical precaution… 

Regardless, Miguel looked up and caught Will’s eye in the distance. His pet nodded and went to the edge of the platform, talking with some of Devin’s staff.

Miguel focused his attention back on the other metiah.

“So no vices then, Quinn Sabian?” he asked, “You keeping a clean, tight ship over in whatever hole you’ve burrowed yourself in? Where is that again?”

Quinn met his gaze, unfazed. Still smiling warmly.

“Plenty of vices, Miguel. What would be the point otherwise? And the hole I think you mean is _Lethusken_.”

“Oh right. That address you’ve registered for a vacant lot.”

Quinn shrugged.

“Property development.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s a booming business for you.”

“Never been better.”

There was a loud violent noise from the front of the grand hall. The sound of a fall. Broken plates and glasses.

_Perfect timing_.

Quinn looked over at the commotion, and Miguel looked at Quinn.

A couple seconds passed.

Quinn’s breezy, chill smile slipped off. A crack in the mask. And Miguel saw some _genuine_ expression bleed through _. Startled_ …

“What the fuck?” Quinn whispered, eyes intent on the scene ahead.

“Hmm,” Miguel said, glancing towards the front of the hall, “Oh…Well, maybe some people in here could learn from your sober example.”

“Who… Is that…Is that Xhen…?”

“Xhen Jarvis. Yes. Yes, it is.”

The hall had gone very quiet. Maybe three hundred or so people in the crowd, their attention all turned to the scene developing at the front of space. A certain kind of ripe tension seemed to have smothered the air, invasive and impossible to ignore.

Quinn mouth’s parted, a pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. A subconscious motion Miguel knew he probably didn’t even _register_.

“Is that—They’re all _his suqua_?”

“Yes,” Miguel replied, smiling, “I should hope so.”

“And that…on his lap…must be his _klanvada_.”

“Yes,” Miguel said. He slide closer to Quinn, still not touching him at all. But close, _near_. “Her name is Georgia Davos. She’s stunning, right?”

“But… but why? … Why is he doing this here? Now? Like this? Is this… is it something _else_? But no…”

Quinn’s voice trailed off, bewildered. Disbelieving. _Awe-struck_. 

“No. No, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Well… fuck.”

Miguel watched Quinn closely. The other metiah looked so disturbed, and so _fascinated_. His brow scrunched together as he stared at the distant scene, trying to decipher what he was witnessing.

“So this is what you fucking people do in this Club,” Quinn said.

Miguel couldn’t resist the laugh.

“Hardly,” he said, “No, this is just the game of a couple radicals… Especially Xhen Jarvis. He’s quite the _exhibitionist_. Didn’t you know?”

“No.” Quinn managed to look away from the scene. His face had taken on a flush. His pupils creeping wider. “I can’t say I did.”

“And you don’t _approve_?”

“I don’t _understand_ ,” Quinn hissed back. He turned back towards the scene, unable to stop watching, “Why would anyone do this? Why would anyone possibly want to _share_ this in this way?”

Very valid questions. Miguel personally would _never_ … _Never_ in a million years. Never for _any_ reason. And he suspected that the vast, vast, vast majority of metiah agreed with that.

But there were a couple rouges… Deviant radicals who thrived on the _power_ in the shock. And it was a real _power_. Everyone in this hall was watching this after all… especially this pretty Quinn Sabian, so shocked and flustered and off-balance because he certainly had _never_ seen this before. And never even _thought_ or _conceived_ of seeing it.

Miguel allowed himself to look away from Quinn. At the spectacle in front of them. 

Xhen Jarvis and his suqua had overtaken one of the low-lying dens, filled with pillows. Xhen had propped himself up against a few cushions. He clutched his _klanvada_ on to his lap, his arms twisted in a vice lock around her. This beautiful woman Georgia was plastered against her metiah, arms roped around his neck, her face smashed into his shoulder. She had bit down at the base of his neck, trying pierce into his body, mesh herself into him.

Around the couple it looked like a small bomb had exploded. The rest of Xhen’s suqua lay collapsed on their backs, their sides, their limbs sprawled in some contorted, extended positions, pressed into the pillows like some force, some invisible force was pushing them down.

A few of them were trying to move now. Some shuddery, twitched gestures that held no strength, their limbs falling back to the floor, like they were magnetized.

One suqua seemed more with it. It was Xhen’s _veikala_ , Preston Shafer. Veikala always tended to recover first…

Miguel watched as Preston gripped the side of the table, trying to push himself up on his hands. But no, it was still too early. Too soon. The sensation overwhelmed, and Preston crashed down to the ground again, sending another plate and glass flying and shattering.

From this distance, Miguel unfortunately couldn’t really the hear the sounds. Maybe just a faint murmur, maybe just his fantasy …But he was sure it was a melody of the most gorgeous breathy noises. He couldn’t see their eyes either, those wild, glazed blown out pupils, _drunk and dripping with pleasure_.

But yes, even though they were too far away for all the truly beautiful, tiny details, it was obvious to everyone in this vast hall what had happened. What was happening. It would have been obvious to any Mytarri metiah or suqua.

Xhen had just initiated _ammaihqua_. A truly _delicious_ ritual. And one of the most intoxicating privileges of being metiah. 

Just watching the scene unfold drew up Miguel’s own greedy memories from his last session. His cock inevitably stirred in his far too tight jeans.

Ammaihqua was such an extreme _delight_. Something cherished and loved.

But it was deeply intimate. Deeply _vulnerable_.

Miguel forced his attention off the enraptured suqua and back to his target.

Quinn seemed astounded and _immersed_ by the scene below them. He had pushed himself forward, so that he was leaning over the table, all attention ahead. 

Yes… it seemed Quinn had been truthful when he said he’d never been to the Club. All very good. All perfect actually.

Ammaihqua was something _just for suqua_. From their first claim, all metiah understood that, and believed that. It was something to be savored and enjoyed far, far away from prying eyes and roaming hands. It was something meant for the _privacy_ of their own spaces. It was _not_ a public spectacle.

The mere thought of _sharing_ his own ammaihqua… It _enraged him_. It actually ignited every _possessive_ nerve in his body.

However, again, there were the deviants. Those who thrived in the power of the shock. All of whom, of course, were members of this _elite_ Club. These metiah had conjured some crazy idea that the pleasure of ammaihqua was somehow heightened when _on display_. And they had deemed this Club, open only to a selected metiah and their guests, as somewhere safe enough to indulge in this truly wild fantasy. Really the Club was the _only_ “public” place in Crimimiss safe enough to indulge in this.

And Quinn Sabian, who had never visited this place before, would have _never_ seen this.

He would have never _known_ this sort of thing occurred here. That this sort of thing _ever_ occurred at all. It wasn’t discussed outside these walls, outside this group.

Miguel slid closer to Quinn, not touching the other man, but entering his personal space. He bent towards his ear, while Quinn remained transfixed on the scene in front of them.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Miguel said, tone one of his lushest and lowest, “Maddening almost. You don’t want to watch – it doesn’t feel _right_ – but you also can’t look away.”

“Does he always do this?” Quinn asked, not looking at Miguel, “Every ammaihqua?”

“No, of course not. But every so often, _yes_. It must be some occasion.”

He looked back at the scene below them. Things were intensifying. The _pull_ had started to set in...

Xhen had moved his klanvada off his lap, and focused in on his veikala Preston, who had moved too soon, probably hurt himself…

Miguel knew exactly what would Xhen would do, because it was it exactly what _Miguel_ would have done. Had it been his Tony…

Oh fuck. He forced himself to ignore the pressure in his cock, the pulse in his _hands_.

But he couldn’t stop from watching Xhen…

Xhen dragged Preston underneath him, crawling between the man’s legs and pinning him into the ground. He ripped open his boy’s shirt, such a messy show of force, and shucked the tattered fabric often of him. Leaving him bare-chested and exposed for the hall of hungry, greedy eyes.

Xhen dug a finger into one of his nipples, pulling on the hooped piercing that glinted a telltale blue, even at this distance. And still playing with the piercing, he grabbed his suqua’s arm, and brought his hand to his face, laving and licking at his palm.

Obsessive, manic level of attention. Xhen sucked and licked and nipped and worshipped at the palm of suqua’s hand like the most enthusiastic of cocksluts. 

Preston absolutely writhed underneath him in the onslaught. His legs kicking out weakly, useless flailing. Drowned in the sensation of it all. 

And then in swift, total and decimating attack, Xhen bite into the skin of his suqua’s hands.

The scream echoed in the vast chamber, striking even at Miguel and Quinn’s distance. Everyone in the hall had gone silent, mesmerized by the display in front of them. Watching – enraptured, enraged and enchanted — as they saw the suqua’s hands pulse that blue – _swollen_ and _stretched_ with the dark, consuming sapphire-colored substance.

It leaked through the Preston hands, dripping – beautiful, alive – on Xhen’s fingers, mouth, lips.

 _Amma_.

Xhen lapped it up desperately, sucking on the appendage, coaxing, consuming and controlling it. When he finally pulled back, his lips and mouth were covered in the blue, stained and saturated with it. His suqua sobbed incoherently under him, glorious pleasure intense enough to be a white-hot pain.

Xhen leaned over and kissed him, devoured him, fed the amma the he’d taken, _his amma_ , back into his suqua.

It was _gorgeous_. It was _everything_.

Miguel looked at Quinn besides him. The man was flushed with arousal. His nipples hard and pebbled under his thin white sweater. His cock this large bulge against the fly of his jeans.

Yes… there was one thing on which agreed Miguel with the likes of Xhen Jarvis. The _power_ in the shock.

It was the time to _play_.

“Do you want to go down there?” Miguel whispered.

Quinn jolted, eyes darting between Miguel and the scene below.

“Do you want to go down there?” Miguel repeated, smiling, still hovering inches away from Quinn, “Do you want to pull Xhen away and take his place? Do you want to pin that sweet suqua down and suck on his brands and shove your cock into his tight, hot hole and fuck him until he can’t remember his metiah’s name? We could do it, if you want. No one else here would stop us. They would all just watch, hungry and greedy and _love_ every second of it. And Xhen would _love_ it too. ”

“You set this up,” Quinn breathed out. He sounded _shocked, disbelieving_. His pupils had expanded to size of planets, as he forced himself to regard Miguel fully. “How did… Why…?”

“Look at Sayed Rayash.” Miguel nodded towards a table in the central dining area. Quinn followed his gaze. Sayed looked _enamored_ by the scene in front of him, eyes lasered in on Xhen and his suqua, obsessively running his hand over his chin and mouth, biting his lips.

“Sayed’s done it before,” Miguel continued, locking his eyes back on Quinn, “He’s probably aching do it again tonight. He and Xhen have an accord, and one time, Xhen let him play with his suqua during this initiation. See, Xhen is going to leave soon. Even the ultimate exhibitionist doesn’t let us watch the whole show. He’s going to take his suqua up to his suite here, and have a day of ammaihqua properly. Then he’ll take them home for another day to finish.

“But one time, Sayed and he had been playing something intense. And Sayed just couldn’t help himself when Xhen started the ammaihqua like this. No, he was so greedy, greedy, greedy. So he climbed down into Xhen’s little nest, just after Xhen started the _pull_. And he took one of Xhen’s suqua, just shredded his clothes and started playing with his brands. And the suqua was so far gone then, he couldn’t stop the expansion. The brands just _swelled_ in his hands, overtaking and aching and desperate. He started begging Xhen to let the brands free. _Begging_ him to let this other metiah to taste them. And Xhen _let him_. He fucking _let him_. He crawled over and released his suqua’s brands, and Sayed _lost it_.

“It was like he’d never tasted _amma_. He consumed them and started fucking the suqua and Xhen just laid there and _watched_.

“Can you imagine that? Fucking someone else’s suqua during the _pull_? Fucking them, tasting them? Tasting their brands? Playing with what doesn’t belong to you at all. Playing with what is _entirely_ someone else’s.”

Quinn’s amber eyes shifted. Miguel could see the _anger_. The _passion_. Real, genuine emotion. Unmasked and exposed.

And Miguel absorbed it all. Taking it away, analyzing it, _loving_ it. He saw it the depth of it, its _sincerity_.

Yes, this is what he wanted… What he’d _needed_ to understand.

“Miguel – “

“Can you imagine that Quinn?” Miguel purred. He moved flush to Quinn, their legs pressed into each other. “Yes, of course you fucking can. I bet you crave it. Because you’re fundamentally a thief, aren’t you? The thrill of taking what isn’t yours.”

“I’m not a fucking thief!” Quinn screamed. “I’ve taken nothing that wasn’t _given_.”

Silence.

Quinn paused in the wake of his own words. A wave of understanding crashed over him. His face flushed now from something other than arousal.

Miguel pulled back a bit, sliding away on the cushion.

“No… No, I guess you haven’t,” Miguel said. He couldn’t stop the grin anymore. It stretched as wide and maniacal as ever. “But that doesn’t mean he’s _free_ Quinn. It doesn’t mean he’s _yours_. Because at this moment, he’s completely _mine_.”

The two men just stared at each other.

A long time passed.

It was _critical_ how Quinn responded now. Fundamental. A map of possibilities sprawled out in his mind’s eye, vast and evolving.

The question, the true question here – Was this metiah _strong_ enough for this?

Eventually Quinn looked away from Miguel. He took some long measured breaths through his nose. The flush began to dissipate from his face. His pupils contracted again.

And when he finally spoke, it was in a _real_ voice. Not some breezy, languid mask. But a thick, rich tone that pulsed with _power_. 

“This must be a favorite game of yours, Miguel.”

Oh, how _interesting_.

But he needed more. A lot more.

“And what game is that?”

“Hmm.” Quinn made a deep, contemplative sound, “You know, when I met Jasper Montesquieu, I’ll admit, I was _stunned_. I wondered, how could this gorgeous creature - apparently yours - be so charmingly oblivious and yet so genuinely _knacky_.”

Miguel felt his grin expanding. This type of expression he couldn’t really control well. The kind of smile his suqua said him made him look _insane_.

“How lucky for you then.” 

“Yes, so, so _lucky_. But then I realized it was because he had been given _no choice_. He didn’t even understand he _had_ a choice. Stuck as _bait_ in this beautiful, elaborate _trap_. So please, forgive me, but I’m curious. A bad habit of mine. But sometimes I just have to know, you understand? So, for curiosity’s sake, how many other _lucky, lucky_ metiah have you baited in with this _exquisite_ game.”

Oh, yes, _please_. Miguel felt the adrenaline and arousal whip through him again. He absolutely _loved_ this.

And when he spoke back, he used a _real_ voice of his own. One that was rich and ringing with anticipation and pleasure.

“Suffice to say you haven’t been the _first_. Though the others all had the common sense to approach me first before even _trying_ to pursue Jasper.”

“The others then were _idiots_.”

“Yes,” Miguel agreed, “Yes, they were. Are you telling me you’re not?”

Quinn smiled back, toothy and cruel.

“You want to hear a funny story, Miguel?”

“Yes,” Miguel breathed out, “Yes, I think do.”

He looked up and nodded at Will who was waiting nearby in the shadows. His pet approached their table with a tray from the kitchens. Water and pot of tea for Quinn Sabian. Bottle of single malt scotch for Miguel. And an assortment of snacks that Miguel liked – olives, crudités, fresh bread. Will served the food and drinks wordlessly, pouring Miguel a dram of whisky. Again, Quinn glanced at Will in open curiosity but made no comment.

Maybe, just maybe this metiah actually _wasn’t_ an idiot.

Below them, Xhen Jarvis had wrapped up his extreme display. His suqua had all seemed to settle into the _pull_ , regaining some composure. Xhen lifted up his klanvada, cradling her in his arms like a mort bride, and coaxed the rest of them to their feet. They all stumbled after their metiah, ending their show and retreating to the upper levels of the Club.

Miguel watched this all with an amused smile. He turned back to Quinn and took a sip of the whisky. Relishing the complex menagerie of flavors and smooth, rich burn of the spirit.

“So,” Miguel said, looking dead in Quinn’s bright amber eyes, “Tell me the story. What wild notions did your friend have about Lemon?”

Quinn just smiled. Took a drink of tea.

“Well,” he started, “He said that next week, the Board of Directors for Lemon would be meeting with a very specific agenda – how to _privatize_ the company. It seems like a group of them, along with some other investors, are scheming to purchase a majority share, and will then de-list it from the Exchange.

“This is clearly going to be a huge news story in the Mortagaia world. Such a big shake-up for this public shiny tech company that has innovated so much in the world of personal computers and smartphones. Such a bold move for a household name…But, what I think might just get even more attention, is the fact that the person leading this privatization buy-out just so happens to be _Mytarri_.

“And crazier still, my friend even heard that they’re planning to have this Mytarri run the company publicly, as the CEO. An open Mytarri CEO of a major multi-national corporation. Who just so happens to be you – Miguel de los Santos.”

Miguel forced his mask into place, cementing an iron-clad small smile. Imperative not to show any real emotion with this. 

“Hilarious,” he managed eventually, “You must kill it at the comedy clubs, Quinn Sabian.”

“Of course,” Quinn replied, evenly, “But you haven’t heard me finish.”

“Please, continue.”

“Well, the real _hilarious_ part of this isn’t necessarily about Lemon at all. No, it’s more about the grand circus of our General Assembly in new year. See, I actually heard from a friend – a _different_ friend – that this next Assembly is going to see a lot of _interesting_ legislation put forth from the Chancellor. Some of which is going to address some new _regulations_ about Mytarri assuming control of publicly traded Mortagaia corporations. And it just struck me as so _hysterical_ that you were rushing ahead this move with Lemon right before this happens. It was almost like you didn’t want the Chancellor to know beforehand. Isn’t that just fucking _funny_?”

Miguel just stared at Quinn for a few moments. The mask of his small, innocuous smile bolted to his face like steel. A thousand questions swarmed. But Miguel forced himself to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time.

There was only one real question. The one that mattered. 

He felt the pressure building in his chest, devouring the space between his ribs. A potent blend of anticipation, adrenaline and _desire_. Oh this was so sweet… so delicious. 

Everything he could have hoped for and more since learning about Quinn Sabian’s existence last week. 

“Quinn Sabian,” he said at length, “Where the fuck have you been hiding?”

Quinn laughed. It was a rich sound, but there was a bitterness to it. Some sharp edge.

“Apparently not far away enough.”

“No, apparently not,” Miguel agreed.

He took another sip of whisky. Leaned forward towards Quinn.

And he asked the one real question at the heart of this.

“So, why tell me this? Why _give_ me this? You could have used this delightful tale very happily from whatever little hole you’ve built for yourself. And who even knows – maybe I would have never found out it was you. Maybe I would have been none the wiser, stumbling after idiots like Xhen Jarvis for example. So why tell me? Now when it’s fully within my power to _destroy_ you for this?”

“Destroy me?” Quinn said. He had leaned closer to Miguel as well. His amber eyes seemed like molten flames. His scent overwhelming with its oil notes and metiah essence.

And Miguel _felt_ it. Something he rarely, rarely ever _felt_. That pulse in his amma. The pulse that warned of the danger of this other. The pulse that warned of the _power_ of this other.

Yes, it was their oldest cliché but perhaps the truest. Both the curse and the blessing of the Mytarri was their love of _power_.

“Miguel de los Santos,” Quinn continued, his voice this intoxicating burr, “You’re not going to _destroy_ me. You _want_ me. You’ve been looking for someone like me. Looking for a monster in the shadows with your beautiful, elaborate _traps_. And lucky, lucky _you_ , you might have _finally_ found one.” 

Miguel’s heartrate had skyrocketed. He had to focus on breathing.

“The story,” Quinn said, cruel smile on in full, “is just a offering. I hope a _peace_ offering. It’s not a threat. I have no design against you and yours, and I don’t _want_ one. What I want is a deal. You give me what I want. I give you what you want.”

Miguel forced himself to exhale. 

“And what, Quinn Sabian, could you possibly know about _what I want_?”

Quinn smiled softly, an easy, languid gesture. Then he closed the space between them and kissed him.

The touch was light – exploratory, _inviting_.

Miguel let himself savor the simple sweetness for a moment, before pulling back.

Quinn regarded him bright, beaming eyes.

He took a sip of tea. Put the mug down. Then he stood up.

“So good to finally meet you, Miguel. And thank you so much for the show. It was _fascinating_.”

And he turned to leave. He walked past the empty tables on the platform. He passed where Will was camped out, and Miguel heard him say, “Goodnight William Delford.”

And then he was gone. Lost in the low, lush lighting of the Club. Another shadow in the night.

Miguel let himself fall back against the cushioned booth.

His mind swirled, a thousand thoughts surging through his synapses.

Will had come to sit besides him, taking Quinn Sabian’s spot. As usual, he managed to put everything in a perfect perspective.

“Good date?” he asked.

“Yes, Will. Yes, it really was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a causal date. Two people getting to know each other. And some crazy scifi/fantasy ritual with some weird puesdo-sex organs, maybe? Who really knows. Also some absolutely ridiculous mind games because... why not? What else would you do on a blind date? 
> 
> For real though, I realize there is a lot going in this chapter. All of which might not make any sense in except in my own crazy head... So please feel free to ask any questions :) And any feedback is always appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! :)


	9. Nothing on This Planet Compares to It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the break. Life has been kind of crazy these past couple of months. It was nice to write some ridiculous smut as a distraction. Hope you all enjoy :)

“Common love isn't for us  
We created something phenomenal  
Don't you agree? Don't you agree?  
You got me feeling diamond rich.  
Nothing on this planet compares to it.  
Don't you agree? Don't you agree?  
Who needs to go to sleep, when I got you next to me?

All night, I'll riot with you  
I know you got my back and you know I got you.  
So come on, come on – Let's get physical.  
Lights out – Follow the noise.  
Baby, keep on dancing like you ain't got a choice.  
So come on, come on – Let's get physical.”  
– Dua Lipa, “Physical”

\--------------------------------------------------------

_Jasper_

The text message said, _“I’m back. Can you come by the place?”_

Like a man possessed, Jasper’s fingers typed out a reply. _“Tonight?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Fuck right off. Sweet dreams, Quinn Sabian.”_

And for good measure, Jasper turned off his phone.

It had been eighteen days since Jasper had heard from Quinn. Eighteen days since Quinn had apparently met Miguel at the old metiah club by the Walqua Fountains.

That night, the night Quinn had gone to Miguel, Jasper had been a jittering jumble of nerves. Too many possible outcomes – so much fucking room for error. But Quinn had insisted – _demanded_ – on handling this himself and removing Jasper from all conversation with Miguel.

And so Jasper knew essentially nothing about what was going down.

He had tried to distract himself that evening. He’d gone out with Marty and Lydia, first to dinner at some greasy noodle shop (though Jasper had no appetite) and then to the cinema to watch a ridiculous Mytarri romantic comedy. He could barely remember the title let alone keep up with the plot. He spent the entirety of the film looking between his phone and staring into space. After the movie, Marty had invited him back to his, but Jasper had declined. Back at his parents’ house, alone in his room, sleep had been intermittent, troubled. 

Jasper had woken up to sunlight sneaking through the curtains. And then he couldn’t wait any longer.

He had texted Quinn, _“How is everything? What happened last night?”_

Over an hour later, Quinn finally responded, “ _Everything is fine, Tes. No need to worry about anything with Miguel. It’s all good.”_

_“What happened? Can you meet up today?”_

_“I can’t today. I have to go out of Crimimiss for a bit and I’ll need to be out of touch for a while. I’ll let you know once I’m back.”_

And that had been the last Jasper had heard from Quinn, eighteen days ago… Not that Jasper was counting.

At first he had been anxious. Then concerned. Then _angry_.

Time had dragged on and nothing had changed with the damage inflicted to his family. His brother Maxine was still discharged from the National Defense. The bank was still set to foreclose on the house within days. Jasper apparently still wasn’t a student at CIT…

But it had been exams. Final projects. Despite being unable to access his records on the university online portal (because they didn’t exist), his professors had personally reached out to him, having heard of his “technical difficulties with the system”. And so all his tests and projects had been manually scheduled.

And in the absence of any other certainty, Jasper had thrown himself into his studies.

He spent most nights camped out in Carson’s office, long after his advisor had left for the day. Researching, coding, working…

Exhausting and stressful, but this at least he could _control_. The lines of code, the intricacies of software applications, the programming … this he _understood_. And he was good at this.

Far better than being at home, subject to his family’s rapidly growing unease about their state of affairs. Far better than listening to Guillaume’s increasingly snapped remarks about the bank and the house…

Far better than sitting in his bedroom trying not to look at his phone like some sad, confused boy waiting for –

No. Fuck that. 

But despite his resolve and the distractions with university, he had still tried to text Quinn. He had even tried call him at one particularly enraged point. But the messages bounced back undelivered. Phone calls led to error messages.

Quinn had vanished.

…Fitch had also vanished… Jasper hadn’t heard from his friend _in weeks_. Jasper assumed he was back in New York City now… or maybe not… He knew the American Morts celebrated Christmas around this time of year, so maybe Fitch was back in Crimimiss again. But he had no way to know for sure … Fitch had blocked his number and blocked him from social media.

And it was hardly like Miguel had gotten in touch with him…

So, Jasper had been pretty much alone in this one.

Until tonight. The evening after Jasper had handed in his last final project.

He was with Marty and Lydia. His friends had also just finished their last exam at university and they had gone out to celebrate.

After an excessive feast of a dinner, they were now camped at a cozy, neighborhood pub in Rangowen that they often frequented. Tucked into their favorite corner booth, four or five rounds of drinks in at that point.

Jasper finished shutting off his phone. Turned it over on the table.

Lydia looked at him with a suspicious slant.

“Everything alright, Jay?”

“Yes, of course,” he said. He didn’t – he couldn’t get into that now. It was too much. After weeks of silence, Quinn seriously expected he would just drop everything and race off to meet him in the middle of the night? He was furious … _giddy_ … so fucking confused.

But somehow, he felt more settled than he had in days. Exams were done. Things were _happening_ again… 

He raised his half-finished pint and smiled at his two friends. His two amazing, beautiful friends who would stick with him throughout everything.

“I love you guys,” he said, drunk and sincere, “I can’t wait until next year. Next is going to be great. Next year is going to be incredible.”

“To next year!” Marty yelled, clanking his own glass against his, “It’s almost fucking here!” 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Everything hurt. Jasper immediately dropped the sunglasses over his eyes as they shuffled into the harsh winter sunlight. He stuffed his hands into his overcoat pockets, shivering under the cold. He was freezing and felt like an airplane had crashed into him.

Lydia grabbed him around the waist and burrowed her way underneath his arm. He could hear her hear teeth clattering. Marty huddled on the other side of her, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck.

“Fuck, Jay,” he said, “It’s fucking freezing.”

“This was a terrible idea,” Lydia groaned.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jasper said, “It was a terrible idea. But we’re out now. It’s only a couple blocks.”

The drinking last night had reached catastrophic levels. Only by a miracle had they ended up back at Jasper’s and not passed out in the pub. They woken up in a jumbled heap across the bed – ill and aching. After a morning of chugging water and intermittent naps, by mid-afternoon they were realized they were _famished_ and absolutely needed something as greasy and fried as possible to soak up the rest of the alcohol in their system.

So with a determined mission they’d forced themselves to shower. Then bundled up in their sweaters and winter jackets to set off for the café down the street. But now in the wake of the winter cold, the distance seemed insurmountable.

Jasper inhaled deeply. Gripped Lydia under his arm, and started trudging down the road. It was really less than a ten minute walk – they could do it. And the burger at the end of this long painful journey would be worth it.

Snow coated the pavement. Crunchy under their thick shoes as the trio crept down the road. For a while that was the only sound. No one else was out today in Jasper’s residential neighborhood. Most having the sense to stay snuggled up at home.

They eventually reached the corner where the neighborhood became more commercial. The local market, hardware shop and a few restaurants were on this block. Steady traffic on the street. The roll of tires on the slushy roads grated on Jasper’s senses. He brought his cap down over his ears, trying to stave off the noise.

Lydia stopped moving. Marty too. Jasper almost lost his balance in the suddenness of it.

“What—”

“Jay,” Lydia said, tone perplexed, “Someone is staring at us.”

Jasper forced himself to look up. He took off his sunglasses.

A familiar white pickup truck had blocked the next crosswalk. The driver side window was rolled down. The man inside the vehicle leaned over the door. Smile smooth and amused on his lush peach lips. Amber eyes sparkling.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” he called out.

Fuck.

“Stay here,” he hissed at Lydia and Marty. He broke away from the group and moved towards the truck.

“Quinn Sabian,” Jasper said. He stopped right beside the open window. Tried to glare at the metiah and ignore the insane _relief_ he felt seeing this man again. So Quinn was truly back…

Quinn met his sharp gaze easily. Still all smiles.

“You look like shit,” Quinn said, “Big night out yesterday? Is that why you told me to fuck off?”

“No,” Jasper said, “I told you to fuck off because you don’t ignore me for weeks and then expect a late night rendezvous.”

Quinn’s smile deepened.

“Oh la la. A late night _rendezvous_? I just want to talk, babe.”

“About what?”

Quinn shrugged slowly, and blinked. Movements all feline. Like a tiger or some mountain lion, lazing around after the day’s hunt. 

“Well, get in the car and find out. Unless you want to do this in the middle of street?”

So exasperating… But no, he had no intention of doing this in public.

He turned back to Marty and Lydia. They were watching the exchange intently, eyes narrowed in concern.

“You guys go without me. I’ll see you later.”

“You _sure_ , Jay?” Marty asked, looking pointedly towards Quinn. Jasper noticed his hands had formed fists at his side. Lydia had reached into her purse, where Jasper knew she always carried a knife. Bracing themselves for a fight if needed. He loved them so much. And so he needed to protect them by keeping them as far away from this as possible.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll see you later.”

And before they could talk him out of it, he walked to the other side of the truck and got in.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The drive to Quinn’s place was quiet. _Tense_. But Jasper knew if he began an interrogation, his chances of getting answers from the metiah were slim to none. He should be strategic here. Take this time to observe Quinn Sabian.

Much to his annoyance, while Jasper was sure he still looked like he’d been run over by a bus, Quinn looked…

Quinn looked… ( _yum)._

Oh fuck it.

“So where you’ve been?”

Well, so much for strategic.

They were barreling through the scrapyard now. Heaps of metal and machinery and garbage in towering piles everywhere. A desolate, almost menacing scene in the chilly winter daylight. Quinn turned to him and flashed a smile. He had no right to be as handsome as he was. 

“Like I said, Tes, I needed to leave Crimimiss for a while. And now I’m back.”

“There’s a lot outside of Crimimiss.”

Quinn’s grin deepened.

“Yes, there is. You ever been?”

Clever bastard. Two sentences into this conversation and Quinn was already turning the tables. They had arrived at the derelict warehouse that served as the entrance to Quinn’s underground apartment.

The metiah parked the truck and fully shifted his attention to Jasper.

Jasper did observe him. He was wearing his usual scraggly attire. Frayed jeans that looked stained with paint… or maybe motor oil? A beat up CIT sweatshirt, ripped at one shoulder seam. He looked like a mechanic, a construction worker, maybe a painter… Not some global jetsetter... not someone to feel _self-conscious_ around. And yet those smoldering brown eyes, crackling with anticipation, seemed to hint at anything else.

Despite himself, Jasper broke the eye contact, looking away.

“We’re talking about you,” Jasper said. He inhaled. Forced himself to look back at Quinn. “You’re the one who left. Where did you go?”

“I’ve already told you,” Quinn said, relaxed, _patient_ , “I left Crimimiss for a while.”

“But where specifically?”

“Why does the specific matter? Where have _you_ been specifically?”

“ _Nowhere_ ,” Jasper hissed, hating how he felt a flush in his cheeks. But he swallowed and kept meeting Quinn’s eyes. “I’ve never been off-world.”

He refused to be embarrassed about this. He _wasn’t_ embarrassed about this. Even before the Awareness, leaving their cozy nation of Crimimiss had largely been a privilege of the powerful, wealthy and connected. Now in the post-Awareness era it was even more complicated. Visas, travel documents … Sure, Jasper had been into the technical territories of their puppet nation Turkmenistan for various reasons a few times… but beyond that, nowhere.

But that was common among _ordinary_ Mytarri, among the _ewauto_ , the working and middle class of their country, unclaimed and unconnected to any metiah lineage. Growing up this had never even _fazed_ him in the slightest. Like most Mytarri, he loved Crimimiss, and it was _theirs_. All theirs, removed from any influence from the rest of the world (which was why Mytarri referred to international travel as going off-world, because in many respects the Mortagaia culture might as well be another planet). So why would he want to go elsewhere?

But after attending Crimion Prep, and witnessing how the other half lived… After befriending Fitch… Yes, he was curious – _fascinated_. He wanted to see firsthand what it was like – the outside. Now though, in their crazy post-Awareness times, off-world was difficult. The fact that Quinn could casually speak about heading somewhere else was very… very _metiah_.

Quinn was watching him. Small smile on his lips, still amused and teasing but there was … something kind in his eyes.

“I’m a bit surprised,” Quinn said, softly, “So, you never jetted off anywhere with Fitch?”

“No, nothing like that. I mean Fitch didn’t even really jet off anywhere, until recently, with the Ridgeview project and everything. Well, besides – ”

_Fuck._

Jasper bit down on his tongue in horror. Had he really just almost said that? What the fuck was wrong with him?

Quinn reached over and squeezed his arm. Eyes sparking like New Years fireworks.

“What, Tes? Besides what?”

“Fuck off, Quinn Sabian. We’re meant to be talking about _you_.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

“Oh my gods.”

Jasper ripped out of Quinn’s touch. And he let himself out of the truck, stepping into the frigid twilight.

The wind was harsh out here. It stung Jasper’s face. No matter. He turned away from the depilated building and started stalking off towards the surrounding debris of the scrapyard.

He heard the other truck door slam behind him. And suddenly Quinn had sprinted in front him, blocking his path.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home. You said you wanted to talk, but clearly just about nonsense. And I’m way too hungover for this bullshit. So, I’m just going –”

“Hey,” Quinn grabbed his shoulders, stopping his motion, “Come on, you can’t be serious. You’re really going to walk back to Rangowen from here?”

“If I have to. I’m not listening to anymore of these circular ramblings.”

“Tes—”

“Nineteen days, Quinn. You were gone for nineteen fucking days while my family is still reeling from this disaster with Miguel. And either you have something to talk to me about or you’re just fucking around. And if you're just fucking around, that’s fine. I’m sure you have a whole queue of people who would come running if you texted them out of the blue, in the middle of night. But I don’t have the time or the will to— ”

Quinn kissed him. He pulled Jasper towards him and attacked his lips with bone-melting intensity. Fierce, total and consuming. Quinn’s arms were suddenly melded around him, some vortex force dragging him into a nebula, inevitable as gravity.

Jasper felt his knees buckle. He felt his heart convulse.

He felt _it_.

That unnamable, cosmic vibration – _pull_ – that pulsed wildly in his bones, his _veins_ … fuck, his _hands_ … The _amma_ …

Quinn pulled back.

He grabbed Jasper’s face, arching his head up to look at him. The pupils of his eyes wide and inviting. Portals to another dimension.

“I had to leave for awhile, Jasper. For a variety of reasons, none of which were to _antagonize_ you. And I got in late last night, and I was really looking forward to see you. So I texted you. It wasn’t meant to be offensive.”

“And is this meant to be an apology?”

“No,” Quinn smiled, another dazzling grin, “I’m not sorry at all. But I do want to clear up any misunderstanding.”

“Very considerate of you.”

“I think so. Now, how about you come inside. I’ll make us some tea. We can watch some TV…”

“Hmm…that depends.”

“On what?”

“Where were you when were you gone for these variety of reasons?”

Quinn laughed softly. He let go of Jasper’s face and started walking towards the warehouse.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll put the kettle on.”

Jasper remained frozen for a couple seconds. Finally he managed to blink.

“Are you seriously not going to tell me?”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A spell of time later, Jasper found himself settled on the sofa in Quinn’s subterranean dwelling with a mug of herbal tea in hand and no further information about Quinn’s whereabouts for the past three weeks.

It was becoming obvious that Quinn was very _well-spoken_. Meaning, he knew how to speak without saying anything he didn’t want to.

It was a type of manipulation adored by Mytarri. The ability to craft and contort conversation to whatever purpose wanted. And metiah were _renowned_ for this in particular. Jasper had thought he had experience with this, witnessing these kinds of plays numerous times around the dining room table at the De Los Santos Estate. He’d watched many people unravel in exhaustion, literally red in the face, trying to get Miguel to answer some question or discuss some point. And at the time, Jasper had watched these scenes greedily. _Voyeuristic_ and _delighted_ at Miguel’s skill at maneuvering around any unwanted conversation.

But now he realized he hadn’t ever really seen Miguel play like this with his _suqua_. With those he _owned_. Those types of exchanges must have been kept more _private_.

But a lot of Fitch’s stories were starting to make more sense... In their most confidential moments, Fitch would vent to him about how frustrating Miguel could be sometimes, how _exhausting_. How he would need to _push_ hard to get even a fraction of the information he wanted from him, and how more often than not, Miguel would flip situations entirely and use his own frustrations against him, taking Fitch to even more vulnerable places.

Well… Jasper refused to let that happen to him here.

No matter how charming he found Quinn in his distractions, he was going to get some real answers from the metiah.

He just needed to be smarter here. He needed to his up his game.

And he could do that…

Yes… Yes, he could…

Quinn sat down on the sofa with Jasper. He took a sip from his own mug of tea, his gaze shifting between Jasper and the television. Oddly, when they arrived in the apartment, Quinn had turned the TV on, keeping it muted. The channel was some live Mortagaia news broadcast. It seemed like business or financial news. Graphics about the stock markets frequently popped up on the screen.

But these were just some pictures in the background, another distraction.

Quinn shifted towards him, lounging against the cushions, lanky limbs all languid and relaxed.

“So how were your exams?” the metiah asked.

Right. Like that was the conversation they were going to have.

Jasper took a slow, measured sip of tea. The warm, spiced liquid felt delicious to his still somewhat dehydrated senses.

“They were good,” Jasper said, “Finished yesterday. Now I’m off for the New Years break, which should be nice. Have some time with the family. What about you? What are you doing for New Years?”

Quinn shrugged, again with his sphinxlike posturing.

“I’m not sure. Haven’t really made any plans yet.”

“Oh? What about your suqua? Aren’t you going to spend time with them?”

Nothing on Quinn’s facial expression changed, but Jasper watched as something sparked in his eyes. His pupils dilating again.

“Of course,” Quinn said, voice a little softer, “But what would you know about them?”

Jasper refused the bait.

He pressed on.

“So are you going off-world with them again?”

Something in Quinn’s expression _was_ changing. The smile stretched wider.

“Why do you think my suqua are off-world?”

Jasper _hadn’t_. But that was good … very good. Getting somewhere. Getting _something_.

“Well, you wouldn’t travel for weeks without seeing some of them at least. So you must have been together during your some of your _excursions_ , right?”

Quinn’s expression had shifted now. His eyes were intent, _glistening_ amber orbs. His smile a thin line stretched over his mouth. And when he spoke next, his voice was _different_. Still clear and calm, but laced with something _sharp_. Something _predatory_. 

“So that’s how you want to play, Jasper Montesquieu?” Quinn said, “You sure about this?”

Jasper forced himself to keep Quinn’s gaze.

Yes, this was… well, this was a _risk_. Metiah rarely spoke about their suqua with _others_. With outsiders. With those they didn’t explicitly trust. It was viewed as disloyal. _Wrong_. Suqua gave metiah their lives, and in return their metiah _protected_ them. And part of that protection was to keep their secrets, their affairs, their whole fucking lives far away from any knacky interlopers who might wish them harm.

It was the same underlying principle for all meaningful Mytarri relationships. You discussed those you loved only with those you loved. And a metiah and suqua relationship tended to be the most extreme version of this.

So for someone to ask a metiah about their suqua… even in the most banal, general way… especially without any _invitation_ whatsoever to do so… Well, that usually was just a show of _disrespect_. An insult. An _attack_. It implied that the person asking didn’t think the metiah was strong enough to protect their suqua. Strong enough or worthy enough to own them and to keep prying, greedy hands away. In short – it was something that usually only metiah would do to other metiah. To provoke them.

And here was Jasper. Very much not metiah. Provoking one.

“Where are your suqua now, Quinn?” Jasper asked, forcing the words out as neutrally as he could, “Did they come back to Crimimiss with you, or are they still off-world?”

Quinn put his tea down on the coffee table. He inched closer to Jasper on the sofa. His eyes ablaze. Smile wide and cruel.

“ _My_ suqua,” Quinn said, voice saturated with possessive authority, “are not your concern, Jasper.”

There was nothing kind in that tone. Jasper knew he was crossing the line. But he also knew that he needed to… needed to if he wanted to get anything _substantial_ from Quinn. He took another breath and forced himself to continue.

“No, of course they’re not,” Jasper said, “It’s just good to know you had some company while you were off gallivanting around the planet. I’m glad you weren’t lonely at all. It must have been a nice trip.”

Quinn laughed. It was a cold, mirthful noise.

“Gallivanting around the planet?” He repeated. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing?”

“I have no idea, Quinn,” Jasper snapped, “I really haven’t the slightest fucking idea. What the fuck have you been doing?”

“I already told you what I can. There were some things I needed to do off-world.”

“Things you needed to do with your suqua?”

“Jasper,” Quinn said, voice rivalling the outside temperature, “Enough of that. It doesn’t concern you.”

“It doesn’t concern me! Really? Your disappearing act immediately after you go to meet for Miguel for _my alleged benefit_ doesn’t concern me?”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Quinn said, “Why should it? I told you that I would handle Miguel and that you needed to leave it to me. You have to let this go.”

“How am I supposed to let this go if I don’t know what the fuck is happening? How am I supposed to let this go when you text me as soon as you’re back in Crimimiss after weeks away without even the _slightest_ explanation? How the fuck am I supposed to let this go when you stalk me in my neighborhood when I don’t come running back immediately to you? Because you’re sending very fucking mixed signals here. So, I’m either going to let it all go, and get the fuck out of here right now. Or you’re going to tell me what the fuck you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.” 

Silence for a few moments.

Quinn regarded Jasper with slit eyes. His languid, casual pose long gone. He was the like the tiger again. But alert now. Tense, taut and ready to _pounce_.

And after some time, he said, “Are you done?”

For fuck’s sake.

Jasper slammed his mug on tea down on the table. Stood up to leave.

“Yes, Quinn,” Jasper hissed, “Yes, I’m done with – ”

“Then watch this.”

And Quinn turned his gaze to the television. Picked up the remote and unmuted it.

What? Bewildered, Jasper turned towards the screen.

It was a Mortagaia business news channel. Seemed American. Unmuted the news anchor was talking in English, emphatic and intense.

“This is a breaking news development, and we will be reporting more on this as we receive further information. For now, let’s go over to Wendy Owens at the Stock Exchange. Wendy – what are you hearing on the floor?”

The screen split to show woman on a platform above the New York Stock Exchange floor. 

“Thank you Henry. Yes, this is shocking news today at the Exchange and investors are _scrambling_. We’ve already been seeing significant drops, and yes, I’m just getting confirmation now. Trading has been halted on the floor. Again, trading has halted, and we don’t expect it to resume until after the press conference from Lemon. Henry, the mood downtown is _anxious_. Most of the people I’ve been talking with on the floor are having what they’re referring to as ‘emergency strategy’ sessions. It seems like this development has really taken everyone off-guard. And all my sources have confirmed that no one expected an announcement like this to come today. Frankly, no one was expected this announcement to _ever_ come. ”

“Thank you Wendy,” the anchor said, “And correct me if I’m wrong, but this will mark the largest corporate privatization in history. Is this right?”

“That is correct, Henry. We’ve really never seen anything like this. People are –”

“Thank you Wendy. I’m just getting news that we’re going to have to take a break. But we'll be back soon and updating you all as soon as we have more developments.”

And the program abruptly changed to a commercial for laundry detergent. Quinn muted the TV again, watching Jasper. 

Jasper blinked, absolutely bewildered. And without any other ideas, he found himself sitting down on the sofa again. Staring blankly at Quinn.

“I don’t understand,” he said, “What the fuck is happening? What is this about?”

Quinn regarded him steadily for a few moments. Eyes still harsh and intent. But eventually he spoke.

“You know the Mort company, Lemon?” the metiah said.

“Yes… of course. The phones, the computers. What’s going on with them?”

“A privatization buyout was just approved by their Board of Directors. The company is going to be privately owned within a matter of weeks.”

Jasper struggled to wrap his head around the implications.

“That’s… that’s crazy, right? That’s a massive public tech company. So many people have invested it in.”

“Yes,” Quinn agreed, “It’s crazy. The effects on the Mortagaia stock market are going to be significant. Most likely there will be a substantial drop in all tech shares, while investors look for safer options. This might even cause the stock market to crash. This is going to have a huge impact on the global economy if the situation isn’t stabilized correctly.”

“Well…fuck…”

Jasper’s mind was _reeling_. Desperately trying to put the pieces together.

Quinn had mentioned the name Lemon before. In his initial phone call to Miguel – the phone call that happened on this very sofa, only a few weeks ago – which Jasper had been forced to listen to… At the time, the name had caught him off guard. Miguel’s reaction to the name even more. Because it was only after mentioning Lemon that Miguel had agreed to meet with Quinn…

Admittedly, at the time, Jasper hadn’t really processed the implications of that. Why Miguel would be interested in Lemon... Like genuinely interested in that company beyond just a general business curiosity? Except for that… Miguel owned a company here in Crimimiss, CrimiComm. It was kind of small company, actually, in the scheme of Miguel’s portfolio. A purely Mytarri entity that produced computer hardware for Crimion businesses - servers, processors, that kind of thing… But now that Jasper thought about it, they also produced a range of computers…

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fucking fuck.

Of course.

A massive buyout of one of the most _influential_ companies in the world…

No one had that kind of money…

No one except…

“Did Miguel just … _buy_ Lemon?”

And Quinn smiled. His eyes were still harsh, but the edges had softened a bit. Jasper could feel the _approval_ in the expression. Quinn was clearly pleased that Jasper had figured that out without any guidance, even though he was obviously still irritated with him. And fuck, that made Jasper feel… _good_. Proud. Oh … this really wasn’t going to end well for him today, was it?

“Yes,” Quinn confirmed, smiling slightly, “He’s been working on this for a long time now. A lot of hoops to jump through for this crazy deal. But you know, the how isn’t really important here. It’s the why. Always _the why_ …”

“Sure,” Jasper replied, “Obviously, it’s because he wants to build a profitable technology empire.”

And Quinn laughed. It was a genuine, happy sound. Good… maybe Quinn wasn’t as pissed off with him as he feared…

“Yeah,” Quinn said, “I just met Miguel a few weeks ago, and I even I know that’s some bullshit. In fact, I think I don’t there’s any metiah less interested in making a profit than Miguel de los Santos.”

“Hmm… maybe Colin Saulmon,” Jasper offered, smiling. 

Quinn smiled back. “Alright, fair. Maybe Colin Saulmon.”

Quinn paused. Reach over and picked up his mug of tea again, taking a long drink. Jasper observed his motions – this man outfitted in ratty, ripped clothing, long hair tied loosely up in a bun on his head, blonde strands flying everywhere.

Yes… Quinn had just met Miguel a few weeks ago, but he’d known about this deal with Lemon before then.

How? How was that possible?

But like, the metiah had just said, the more important question was _why_? Why had Quinn known this?

He spoke aloud as his mind swirled, trying to put the pieces together.

“So you spoke about this with Miguel,” Jasper continued, “When you met him a few weeks ago. You told him you knew about this Lemon deal. And this clearly was something Miguel didn’t want others to know about beforehand… so Miguel was probably pissed. But also probably impressed. And that’s why he met with you in the first place.”

Quinn put down his tea again. Turned back to Jasper.

“Yes. Miguel really didn’t want anyone to know about this deal before it happened. However, he does want people to know about _after_ it does. He wants _everyone_ to know. That won’t be today though. No. They’re going to credit a group of Chinese investors with it today. But later… after the General Assembly…Miguel’s going to take _all_ the credit with everyone…”

That sounded… strange.

“What are you talking about? All the credit with everyone? You mean… you mean go public with this? Like public _public_? Like with Morts?”

Quinn nodded, but he wasn’t looking at Jasper anymore. His eyes had trailed off into the distance, glazed over in contemplation.

“Yeah… yeah… see, Miguel wants to run the company. Publicly. But as you can imagine there are some… complications with that. Some very complicated complications. Some of which… some of which I’m going to _help_ Miguel with.”

Utter silence for a few moments. Jasper couldn’t even think for a moment. He could just blink.

What?

What?

What the fuck?

Quinn was _helping_ Miguel?

Why? How?

**_WHY?_**

 **`** “I don’t understand,” Jasper said, “You’re helping him? Why? Why are you…”

Jasper trailed off. Quinn was looking at him now. Smiling. But there was an edge. The cruel line had crept back on his face. And Jasper realized they’d come to heart of it.

The unspoken, deep _why_ … That most important question. 

Jasper felt something wild spasm in his chest. He felt nauseous, dizzy … He gripped at the arm of the sofa behind him, trying to steady himself.

“Go on,” Quinn said, softly, words falling like silk over him, “Finish the question. Ask me.”

His heartrate had rocketed up to maximum.

He was sweating.

He felt flushed everywhere.

But Quinn was staring him down. Looking into his eyes expectantly, waiting, _demanding_ …

So Jasper forced himself to exhale.

“Why are you playing with Miguel like that… _for me_?”

Quinn smiled deeper, a twisted, cruel expression that look _possessed_. He had moved towards Jasper. Only inches away at this point. His amber eyes capturing him, consuming him.

Everything had stopped.

“Because I want you for mine.”

Jasper shuddered. It was uncontrollable. Unstoppable. The hum, the vibration inside of him was _throbbing_ now. Throughout his body, every tissue, every membrane. And there was nowhere more concentrated than in his hands. In his brands just below the skin. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he could feel them, pulsing underneath the fine tendons in his palms. He had never felt this before. He had never thought it could be so _intense_. _Insane_. _Beautiful._

He found himself looking down at his hands. Almost expecting to see blue… But no. Not now. Not _yet_. But they were still shaking… literally _shaking_ uncontrollably.

And it was getting worse. Intensity heightening.

He didn’t … He didn’t know it could _feel_ like this. Immersive. Complete. Utterly consuming.

His cock was rock hard, swollen in his jeans. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even think to touch himself. With his _hands_. Fuck, he couldn’t even think of touching anything. He couldn’t even move his fingers, the shaking far too rampant.

“Quinn,” he heard himself crying, “Quinn, please.”

“What, Tes? What do you want?”

“Please, I… I need to… please, just make it… _Please_.”

No idea what he was begging for. He just needed it to be not as intense. To stop _building_ in him like it would _obliterate_ him…

And Quinn suddenly moved. He knelt in front of the sofa and pulled Jasper forward to the edge of the cushion. He opened his legs and forced himself between his knees, keeping Jasper’s thighs spread wide on either side of his hips.

Jasper watched him, his face flushed, pupils blown wide out, as he wet his lips. And he grabbed both of Jasper’s trembling wrists, one in each hand. He rotated Jasper’s arms, forcing the palms of his hands upward. The shuddering pulsing was _manic_ at that point. He cock swelled insistently against the zipper of his jeans. Begging for release.

And then, Quinn bent forward, arching down towards his left hand. And with the precision of a surgeon, he bent and gave his palm the lightest of feather kisses. Ghost of pressure really. But Jasper felt as soon as his lips made contact with his skin.

He expected an orgasmic rush, but it was the exact opposite. The shaking stopped instantly. His hand falling slack and heavy as a brick in Quinn’s grip.

Then Quinn repeated the motion on his other hand. It was same instantaneous effect. His right hand fell slack in Quinn’s grip.

Jasper managed to exhale. There was relief, yes, sweet reprieve. But that hum – _pull_ – hadn’t completely died away. Jasper still feel that vibration settling throughout his body. But more pressing – his cock. So hard and swollen. Trapped in his jeans.

And before he could verbalize anything, Quinn had released both of his hands. His arms flopped uselessly to his sides. They felt so heavy… Impossible to lift.

But no time to focus on that.

Quinn, the clever bastard, was moving lower. Nimble fingers unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped his fly, and yanked the denim and his underwear as far down his thighs as they would go. His cock sprung free, flushed and pink and leaking.

And then with one infuriatingly smug smirk up at Jasper, Quinn bent forward and swallowed him.

Fuck. FUCK. FUCK.

Quinn sucked cock with a vengeance. Absolutely merciless. He inhaled every inch of his length, sucking and licking and laving in an incessant onslaught.

It was a searing pleasure, a brilliant, twisting white-heat swelling inside of him. Quinn’s skilled fingers stroked and cupped his balls, exploring between his legs, getting close, closer to the rim of his hole.

He wanted to grab Quinn’s head, pull at his hair. He wanted to take hold of the man and fuck his mouth wide open, so he was a drooling, gagging mess, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. His hands wouldn’t work right. Too sore. Too heavy to move. All he could do was take Quinn’s relentless pace. Consuming and brilliant and delicious and Jasper felt the telltale sparks.

“Quinn,” he breathed, “Quinn, please, please, I’m going to – “

It stopped.

Like a tidal wave, Quinn crashed back, glorious hot mouth sliding off his cock. Leaving him stranded there, right on the edge, so close, but – fuck, fuck.

“Quinn, please, I need – ”

“Shut up, Tes.”

Quinn’s words were harsh, but his tone was breathless, hoarse. _Exhilarated._

Jasper looked down. It was an obscene sight. The metiah kneeling between his legs, inches from his cock that arched up, red and angry and wet with precome and saliva, almost curled back to his stomach in desperation.

Quinn’s lips were stretched, puffy, slick. His face flushed from his work. Hair even more haphazard than before. Jasper wanted nothing more in the world at that point than to shove his cock back inside that delicious mouth.

But Quinn wasn’t moving. He was just kneeling there on the floor, staring at Jasper’s cock. Fixated.

Oh fuck –

“Quinn, _please—_ ”

“I said, _shut up_. What? What? Did you think I was going to let you come? Seriously?”

Oh gods. It seemed impossible, but Jasper thought he somehow got even _harder_.

Quinn glanced up at him, smile so cruel, eyes glistening.

He reached over and with a single finger traced the pulsing vein down Jasper’s length. He arched back at the sensation, feeling like his eyes were going to roll back into his head.

“No,” Quinn was saying, “No, I’m not going to let you come. I mean, why should I? After you went off about _my suqua_. Like you had any right to discuss what’s _mine_.”

Quinn’s finger kept toying with his cock. Up and down his length. Touch magnificent, except not enough. Not enough. Oh fuck. This was how he was going to die.

Quinn looked up again. His eyes burned into Jasper, engulfing him in heat.

“But I suppose I understand. You’ve had a tough time. Here by yourself. So you pushed. You wanted _reassurance_. Not completely _unreasonable_ I guess…”

Quinn looked back down. And without warning he took the head of Jasper’s cock back in his mouth. His tongue toyed with the slit, coaxing more liquid out, suckling on it. Jasper felt that prickly, sparking swell again, almost at the crest, almost _there_. And then – cool air. Nothing. Jasper found himself literally humping the empty space where Quinn had just been.

Quinn watched the desperate motions and smiled wider. His eyes darted back up, glistening and amused.

“But on second thought,” he said, “Maybe I’m being too lenient.”

“Quinn, please,” Jasper breathed out, “Please. I’m sor—”

“What?” Quinn hissed. “What were you going to say?”

And he stood up. This lanky, towering presence that loomed over him. Jasper felt his cock twitch, neglected and straining, jutting up between his legs.

Quinn unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his own cock. Jasper’s mouth watered at what he could see. It was as long as the rest of him. Now plump and hard in Quinn’s hands as jacked himself rapidly. His other hand grabbed Jasper’s jaw, tight, firm grip, and angled his face towards his crotch.

“What were you going to say to me?” Quinn continued, voice dripping with pleasure, “Were you going to say you’re _sorry_? You're a terrible liar. You’re not fucking sorry. You’re not fucking sorry about anything that's happening here. You’re thrilled. You _love_ this. And you love that I’m going to come all over your face, when your hands are so fucking sore, that you won’t even be able to wipe it away.”

Oh fuck. Jasper was going to explode. His cock burned, throbbing. And then Quinn was coming. Jasper shut his eyes as it hit his face, coating him in spurts. Some landed in his mouth, dripped over his lips. His tongue roamed to taste, finding it…surprisingly pleasant.

But no time to wonder over that. Quinn’s breathing was evening out. He released Jasper’s jaw and kissed him, devouring him. Tasting himself, fucking deep into Jasper’s mouth with his tongue.

Jasper had never wanted to touch himself so badly. But his hands remained heavy, useless limbs at his sides. He strained and could barely bend his thumbs.

But then Quinn pulled away, laughing a bit.

“That’s a very good look on you, Tes. You should wear it more often.”

Jasper squinted, and opened his eyes, the lines of cum, Quinn’s cum settling, starting to dry.

“Quinn, _please_. I’m begging you. Just let me come. _Please_.”

“Well, Tes, _honestly_. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

And before Jasper could summon a response to _that_ , Quinn had dropped back to his knees. And he deep-throated him in one fluid motion.

Jasper came immediately. Hard. Crashing into his orgasm like a meteor hitting the planet. It was brilliant, overwhelming and perfect.

He lost himself in the sensation of it, as Quinn kept sucking on him, swallowing every burst seamlessly. The pleasure seemed _infinite_.

But then he pulling off. Licking him clean. Tucking him back in his underwear, his pants.

Jasper’s eyes had closed involuntarily. He felt Quinn pushing him back on the sofa, guiding his head onto a pillow, bringing his legs up on the cushions, so that he was lying flat.

His arms were carefully placed at his sides, palms of his hands up away from the cushion.

He felt fingers in his hair, a kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Just relax.”

And Quinn left. Some familiar sounds in the kitchen, but then he was back. He felt a warm, wet cloth on his face, cleaning him off. When he was done, Jasper opened his eyes. Quinn was perched on the edge of the sofa besides him, running a soothing hand over his stomach and chest.

“How you doing, beautiful?” he asked, “Can you move your hands at all?”

Jasper tried.

“I can bend my fingers a little… I think. Are they bending?”

Quinn looked down and nodded.

“Yeah, a bit. Why don’t you stop though. Just rest for a little. It will help you recover quicker.”

“What…what was that? I’ve never…I’ve never _heard_ of that happening before.”

“Hmm,” Quinn sighed, “Well… That’s what we call a _blowjob_. Or oral sex if you’d like. It was invented in ancient Mesopotamia –”

“Quinn, I really want to hit you right now. But I can’t. Why can’t I? What happened with the brands?”

“Oh – the _brands_.” Quinn smiled. Dazzling, warm expression. “Well, surely you know the brands to react to all kinds of wild, crazy things. You’ve must have felt it many times. Like when you’re having sex. When you’re angry. When you’re scared.”

“Of course,” Jasper said, mystified, “But that’s just normal, everyday things. This…this felt like nothing I’ve known before.”

Jasper didn’t miss the hungry spark in Quinn’s eyes. The dilation in his pupils.

“Of course it didn’t,” Quinn said, “This is all new to you.”

“So …” Jasper hated how small and unsure his voice sounded. But this was important. He forced it out. “So… you mean, it’s a _suqu_ a thing.”

“Mmm… sometimes. Like my Aunt used to say… The amma is alive. And like everything alive, it has _emotions_. And this…this is just what can happen when the amma is feeling very, very happy. Maybe a bit overexcited.”

“But…” Oh, fuck it. But he needed to know… He just needed to make sure. “But this wasn’t like a… It wasn’t like you were trying to… It wasn't like a _claim_ or something…”

Quinn bit his lips, his face twisting, eyes glittering as he looked up at the ceiling. He was obviously trying not to laugh, but not being very successful.

“Wow…” he murmured, “… That’s the most adorable thing I’ve heard in a while.”

He looked back down at Jasper.

“No, Tes,” he said, “No, that wasn’t like a claim. At all. A claim is a wildfire. An inferno. That was just a match.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...
> 
> I realize this chapter, like all the others, is crazy, and also particularly long. Hope not too much. Anyways...so Quinn and Jasper reunite very amicably after weeks apart, with an interesting discussion on recent corporate news and a relaxing sexual encounter :) 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and thank you all for reading!


	10. Wild, Wild Life

“Here on this mountaintop - oh, oh, oh -  
I got some wild, wild life.”

-Talking Heads, “Wild, Wild Life”

_\----_

_Jasper_

It was warm and dark when Jasper woke up. He blinked, trying to remember where he was. And then of course it came back.

He sat up abruptly, squinting in shadows.

The evening had ended groggily last night. Quinn had made dinner, some spaghetti and meatballs, while Jasper had lounged on the sofa, waiting for his hands to recover. And after an hour or so, they were back to normal, save a residual, lingering soreness. But not enough to impede him from diving into a hearty serving of pasta.

They’d eaten on the sofa, mindless television playing in the background. Chatting about Jasper’s exams and his last few weeks at university. And after the meal, Jasper had been feeling full, tired… _satiated_. He sprawled over the cushions again, and somehow his feet had ended up in Quinn’s lap.

And Quinn hadn’t pushed him away.

Jasper remembered the comforting hands on his socked feet, massaging on his soles and toes. He must have drifted off but eventually Quinn had woken him up. Said they should go to bed. And to his surprise, he had guided Jasper to the spare bedroom again.

Jasper had protested a bit. But like before, Quinn had muttered some sweet nonsense to him ( _“Nah, babe, you should just have some space. Get some rest. I’ll see you later.”)_ And he’d kissed him goodnight and left.

And Jasper had fallen asleep soon after.

Now it was morning. At least Jasper thought it was. Hard to tell in this subterranean dwelling without natural light. He grabbed his phone and checked the time. A little after 8am. And he was on New Years break now. He technically had nowhere to be today…

Marty and Lydia had texted him though. A few times, obviously concerned after Quinn had shown up in Rangowen yesterday. 

Jasper wrote them back that he was fine and alive but didn’t elaborate further. He was still… _processing_ everything. Everything that had happened yesterday.

So he went into autopilot, and started his morning routine.

But a little while later, as he was absently cleaning himself in the shower, he couldn’t stop the looping thoughts. Reliving the memories, yes… Fuck… Quinn’s _mouth_ –

But no. Something much more pressing.

What had _happened_ yesterday? With his _brands_?

He found himself looking down at the appendages under the steady stream of water. The hands innocuous and normal, just wet, pink skin and his always painted nails. 

No one had ever accused Jasper Montesquieu of being _naïve_. While he certainly didn’t claim to know everything, he liked to think he understood how the world _worked_. Everything he had managed to accomplish in his twenty-one years had been the result of his work ethic, grit and determination. When he _wanted_ something, he figured out how to get it. And in their harsh society, that often involved venturing headfirst into the unknown and learning how to adapt to changes or new developments _quickly_.

And right now… he was clearly dealing with some _new developments_.

Of course, he certainly wasn’t an _idiot_. He had known yesterday, in the clear, rational part of his brain, that what had happened wasn’t _a claim_. 

That much was simple. Every Mytarri in Crimimiss understood how suqua claims worked. Every Mytarri understood the _amma_.

He remembered _the talk_ his parents had given him, before his branding ceremony. Such an awkward conversation to have with your parents when you’re fourteen years old. Discussing the changes happening to your body…

And it was taught in school. Amma Health – a mandatory course, standard part of the curriculum, every year of academia.

Of course, none of this theoretical education could even slightly compare to the experience of the amma itself. Of finally _getting the_ _brands_.

Those first few moments – waking up from the branding ceremony.

It was all the lights turning on. Lights you didn’t even know were off. Lights you didn’t even know _existed_.

Every sense – hearing, smell, taste, sight, _touch_ – amplified. Intensified. _Better_.

It was _right_. It was _everything._

It was, like the old saying went, a second birth. Finally _being fully alive._

Yes, every Mytarri understood the amma. It was absolutely fundamental to their collective and individual identities. It was the biologic core of what being Mytarri meant…

And yet, despite all that, there was still so much they _didn’t_ know.

Yes, the ever elusive question of what _exactly_ amma was.

Like Quinn had said yesterday, the amma was _alive_. Except, it wasn’t… At least, not really…

Amma was an _element_. A composite of chemicals. And when implanted into Mytarri it became a part of an organism. Like blood… or muscle tissue … or bone…

But it did _react_. All Mytarri knew that and _experienced_ that. It was perfectly normal and expected for amma to respond to strong sensations. Strong _emotions_.

And some Mytarri did believe this was indicative of a type of … _consciousness_. That was a key tenet of the old Mytarri religion. The idea that the amma was the physical presence of the Gods on this plane of existence. 

For Jasper, that was all a bit too metaphysical – _spiritual_ — for his sensibilities. Like most in his generation, he was largely agnostic. He preferred to base his worldview in _science_. In the _tangible_ , the _knowable_.

So, no, he didn’t believe the amma actually had a consciousness. It wasn’t a sentiment being. There was absolutely no scientific evidence to support. It all just chemical reactions connected to hormones. A biologic phenomenon that _sustained_ them. That made them.

But yes, _occasionally_ , Jasper had felt his amma behave in … unexpected ways. _Startling_.

Most typically, Jasper was aware of his amma during sex. If it was a particularly satisfying experience, Jasper would feel it. Like a _pulse_. A hum. And it was always pleasurable to _stimulate_ it. To rub the brands under the skin in his hands. Though this was considered an extremely intimate act. Really not appropriate for casual sexual encounters, and something he had only experimented with on his own, or with Lydia and Marty…

But amma didn’t _only_ react during pleasure.

A dark memory flitted across his brain. That time with Miguel –

That had been _startling_. _Unexpected. Terrifying_ …

Jasper forced those thoughts away.

Yes, amma could react _strongly_ to _metiah_. This was also common knowledge. Metiah were the only Mytarri who could _control_ amma, and amma was just more _attuned_ with them…

But what had happened yesterday with Quinn…

Jasper had _never_ experienced a reaction like that.

It had been so intense. 

And the most intense and consuming thing that could happen with amma was _a claim_. Again, rationally, Jasper knew that yesterday it would have been _impossible_ for a claim to have been initiated. But if that wasn’t a claim… if that was just, what had Quinn called it, a match? Well, then fuck – what the fuck did a claim feel like? And what the fuck had yesterday actually been?

Because whatever it was, it had felt _strong_. And it had been triggered by Quinn declaring that he wanted Jasper. That Quinn wanted Jasper _for his_.

That thought made him shiver again…A pulse seized through his body.

But no… not the time to drown in that glorious thought. He had to focus.

Yes, yesterday the amma had been triggered by Quinn’s words…

But then, Quinn had been able to _stop_ it. By kissing his palms…

How?

Jasper _wasn’t_ naïve. He knew that metiah played with their suqua’s amma. Of course they did. It was _theirs_ … after the claim.

But that was the crucial point, right? _That was after the claim._

He had never heard of something like that _before_.

So…he needed more information…

Jasper realized his hands were pruning under the water. He finished up his shower. Resolved to start the day and figure out what the hell was going on.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He emerged to find the rest of the apartment still quiet, vacant. No sign of Quinn. The door to the other bedroom still shut.

But there was another note on the countertop.

_There’s tons of food – cereal, eggs, fruit, toast. Help yourself. And call me if you need anything. – Q_

So Jasper made some breakfast.

But the time kept ticking by – no sign of Quinn. So he started nosing around the apartment. As expected, the metiah really hadn’t left anything too _personal_ lying around. The space was filled with mostly old novels, odd pieces of clothing, broken computer monitors. Just a mishmash of junk really.

However, there was one photograph… Jasper found it sticking up out of a book. Something forgotten maybe?

It wasn’t a great image. Old and blurry and yellow-tinted. Clearly from a few decades ago when the only photography option was with film.

Three people stood in front of what looked like a tower of crushed cars. One was Quinn. He looked younger than he did now, but largely the same features. Blonde hair long and wild. Amber eyes sparkling. Clothes as scraggy as ever. And he was _beaming_.

There was an unfamiliar woman to his right. She looked like she was laughing, a full grin over her face, as she leaned into Quinn, her arm wrapped behind him. 

On her other side was gruff, severe man. Older than her and Quinn. Grizzly looking. Jasper realized he recognized him…

And without analyzing what he was about to do, he grabbed his coat and headed to the door.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another crisp winter day on the surface. Frosty blue sky without a cloud on the horizon. Jasper stepped out of the dilapidated warehouse and was promptly greeted by biting wind. But yes, he saw what he was looking for. Another truck was now parked besides Quinn’s.

He scanned the area and heard some clanking noises nearby.

And a few minutes later, he found his target. The man Jasper had meet here a few weeks ago. The man who had almost _shot_ him for daring to step on the property.

He was wrapped in a thick sweatshirt and a padded denim jacket. Heavy cap fitted over his ears. Tufts of grey hair sticking out. His face crossed with worn, harsh lines.

He was busy, occupied. Moving briskly. Rummaging through a large pile of junk, occasionally throwing some things into a plastic bin on top of a pushcart.

“Good morning!” Jasper called out.

The man started, whipping around. His deep-set eyes narrowed, wind-raw lips went into a sneer.

But he didn’t say anything in response. Just glared.

After a couple moments, Jasper took a tentative step forward.

“You’re Kevin McNully, right? We … ah, we met a few weeks ago.”

Kevin blinked at him. Then he spoke in a low, growled voice.

“Yes, we did, Jasper Montesquieu. Now, what the fuck do you want?”

So he remembered Jasper’s name. That was good… maybe?

“Nothing, really,” Jasper said, moving closer, “I was just getting some fresh air. Going for a walk.”

Kevin arched a skeptical brow. But then he turned away, his attention back on the pile of gears and appliances and various bits of machinery.

“Okay,” he said, dismissing him, “You enjoy that.”

Yeah, this was going about as well as he expected. But the man hadn’t pulled a gun on him yet…

“And what about you? What are you up to?”

Kevin paused his rummaging through the debris again. Shot Jasper a very dry look.

“I’m fucking working,” he said. And without any further elaboration, went back to it.

“Do you…” Jasper continued, scrambling to draw this out, “Do you need any help?”

Kevin paused again. Made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. He turned back to Jasper.

“Why don’t you go back inside, kid,” he said, “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Jasper insisted, “Like I said, I wanted some fresh air. And I’m happy to help. Really. If you could use any.”

Kevin just arched a grey eyebrow again.

“Do you need a ride back into the city or something?”

“What? No. No, I’m fine. I’m just looking for something to do. A little exercise, you know. ”

Kevin regarded him for a few moments. His lined, weathered face still mostly a sneer … though maybe the expression wasn’t as severe as before. Jasper met his gaze, schooling his expression into something as neutral as possible.

Eventually, Kevin exhaled. Shook his head.

“Alright. Sure. Why the fuck not. If you’re looking for something to do.”

He turned back to the large of pile of junk, and Jasper tentatively moved closer towards him.

“So…” he broached, “What exactly _are_ we doing?”

“Scrapping for copper, “ Kevin said, hands already diving back into the mess of machinery.

“Right… copper…”

Jasper reached into the pile of various things. Pulled out what looked like a gear.

“Is this – ?”

“No,” Kevin growled. He ripped the metal out of Jasper’s hand and threw it to a smaller pile to the side. “That’s just rust. You look for wires. Anything with a wire, put into this bin here.”

And so they worked.

In silence.

It was tough going out at first in the cold. But moving around helped and Jasper was getting into it. He found a few bits with wiring attached and chucked them into the bin. 

Though, after about fifteen minutes, he jolted backwards. 

“Oh shit, I ripped – ”

“Well, you’re wearing fucking mittens, kid. Let me see. Alright, well you didn’t cut yourself right?”

“No,” Jasper said, looking at his ripped glove that had caught on a piece of metal, “I’m fine.”

“Well, hold on a second.”

Kevin stopped his scrapping and walked to over the other side of the push cart. He opened a tool box.

“Here,” he said, throwing a pair of work gloves at him, “Use those.”

Jasper complied, exchanging his ruined gloves for the others. There were too big for his hands, but much more practical for this kind of work.

“Thanks,” he said.

And the pair resumed the scavenging through junk.

And after a few moments, Jasper decided to test the water.

“So…” he started, shooting a glance over at Kevin, “How long have you been… working here?”

Kevin didn’t look at him, but he let out a dry, bark of a laugh.

“A long fucking time,” the man said, “Too fucking long.”

“… Do you always do this? Like scrap for copper?”

“Fuck no. But there’s always something fucking going on out here. Always some disaster or something that needs to be done. And today, it’s fucking copper. So that’s what we’re doing.”

“Cool,” Jasper said. He paused. Righted himself up to stand fully up and turned towards Kevin. Time to press a little more… see what kind of reaction he got…

“So, do you work for Quinn?”

Jasper thought he saw a slight upward curl on Kevin’s lips. But the other man didn’t pause his work or even look at Jasper.

“I guess you could say I help him out sometimes.”

“And you’ve known him for a while, right?” Jasper pressed.

Kevin tossed another machine part into the bin. Finally turned back to face Jasper. He was taller than Jasper by a few inches. Broad and clearly muscled even with the layers of winter clothing. His expression a mix between a grimace and a smile. His eyes were intent on Jasper though. Sharp like the metal edges in the scrap pile.

“Yes, I’ve known Quinn for a long fucking time,” Kevin said. His tone was coarse but there was no heat behind the words. If anything he seemed… interested in this conversation. Maybe even _curious_. Or maybe that was just Jasper’s wishful thinking. “I met him when he was younger than you are now.”

Jackpot.

“Oh yeah? How did you meet?”

Kevin shook his head, but the corners of his mouth had definitely lifted. A half-smile.

“Yeah, that’s definitely a story for another time. Now, how about we get back to fucking work.”

And there it was. The end of the road.

But that non-answer gave Jasper all the information he needed. Kevin McNully’s loyalty was clearly _firm_ to Quinn Sabian.

So Jasper nodded and gave a small smile back of his own. Shifted back to towards the piles of scraps, and tried to speculate this relationship.

In the Crimion Public Registry, Quinn Sabian had no claimed dalmata. So while that meant he had no _legal_ claim over anyone besides his suqua, that _definitely_ didn’t mean he couldn’t own anyone beyond his suqua. In fact, some metiah quite preferred to keep their bonds informal and unregistered, for the _privacy_. And it was clear that Quinn highly valued his _privacy_.

All the same, Jasper couldn’t help but wonder at this older man, working in the freezing cold in a scrapyard in the middle of nowhere… 

Then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Well, what a shock.”

Jasper paused and turned to the voice.

Quinn had finally emerged from underground. He looked a bit more put together than his usual. Dark jeans without any stains or holes. A sharp, forest green wax jacket with a thick, woolen scarf wrapped around his neck. His hair was tied back in clean bun, showing off his cheekbones and bright brown eyes.

For once, Jasper felt like the sloven one, wearing yesterday’s clothes with unstyled, haphazard brown locks. 

Quinn glanced between Jasper and Kevin, before settling his gaze on the other man.

“So shocking, “ he repeated, “Kev’s roped someone else into doing his work.”

Kevin made some scoffing sound, and turned back to the scrap pile.

“Oh, fuck off. There’s things to do and some of us actually wake up before noon.”

“Hmm… highly overrated.”

Quinn had closed the distance between him and Jasper, coming into his personal space.

“How you doing, Tes?” he asked, brown eyes radiant. His gaze fell down on Jasper’s borrowed work gloves. He grabbed one of Jasper’s wrists, his own gloved fingers slipping under the thick canvas cuffs, massaging the fine tendons there.

“Are you hands feeling alright now?” Quinn asked.

Jasper sensed Kevin pause behind them, and he couldn’t help the warmth that crept up into his cheeks. But most of all, he felt the _amma_ stir again. A low-grade vibration pulsed through him, like a _purr_.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Where you’ve been all morning?”

“Oh, you know. Sleeping. Lounging around.”

“Typical, lazy fuck,” Kevin murmured, turning back to the scraps.

“Takes one to know one,” Quinn shot back, smiling. He looked back at Jasper. “Tes, you really don’t have to help Kev, no matter what sob story he’s spun for you.”

“No… No, it’s all good. I was just getting some air, and I don’t mind helping. Nice to have a little chat, you know?”

“Sure,” Quinn said, smiling deeper, “Well, in that case, you want to wrap this up? I was thinking we could take a little ride. Show you around the place.”

“Alright.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Quinn drove them away from the warehouse, navigating easily through the towering heaps of gutted machinery and vehicles. They eventually cleared some of the junk and began heading upwards onto some hillside ridge.

Up and up for a few minutes, the grade getting steeper and steeper, the track riddled with bumps and groves. But the pickup truck prevailed and Quinn seemed unfazed by the narrow, rickety track.

And eventually they reached a summit.

Quinn swung the car around and parked it. Leaving the engine on and the heat running.

The view up on the hill was dramatic. Below them it looked like miles of post-apocalyptic wonder. Heaps of metal garbage spiraling out in the vast plain. Beyond that, Jasper could see the some distant buildings. Industrial and wide, they looked like more warehouses or factories. Definitely not a pretty corner of Crimimiss by any means, but the view was impressive under the pale winter sky.

“That’s where we came from,” Quinn said, pointing down to the derelict warehouse above his underground dwelling. It looked like nothing from this aerial view – just some rusted out remnant of a building.

“Over there is one of the cities’ landfills. But it’s really Selvok territory. They’re always lighting it up with their deals.”

“Great neighbors,” Jasper muttered.

The Selvok gang was _notorious_ and thrived in the dodgiest parts of Crimimiss. A real violent group that preyed on their society’s most vulnerable. But they had persisted over the years because they were well-organized, run by a wild, sadistic metiah named Franck Algiers.

“That huge building across the road is a canned food plant. And past that is the Actron factory for the car assembly. But those are really the only businesses in the area. Otherwise, it’s a lot of overflow warehouses. A developer tried to build an apartment complex here a few decades ago…but no one really wanted the units. There’s a couple people still living in the building but it’s mostly vacant.”

“Uh huh… Well, it’s definitely a vibe out here….”

“Well, we’re not all from Rangowen.”

That caught Jasper’s attention. He shifted towards Quinn, eyeing him carefully. Rangowen, Jasper’s neighborhood within the city limits of Crimimiss was hardly an _affluent_ area. It was charming, yes. _Old_. With original limestone buildings and quaint local businesses that had been run by families for generations. But it was definitively a lower middle class place. Nothing extravagant by any means.

“And where are you from? Did you grow up around here?” Jasper asked, surprised Quinn seemed to be freely leading to this information.

“No,” Quinn said, shrugging a bit, “I’m from Phoyelgun.”

 _Phoyelgun_.

Fuck.

“You’re from Phoyelgun?” Jasper repeated.

“I am,” he said, small smile back in place, “Does that surprise you?”

“Yeah…I mean, I guess, I don’t know… I don’t really know anyone from Phoyelgun.”

“Well, that’s pretty fair. Most people from Phoyelgun never really leave.”

“Sounds… _rough_.”

Quinn just kept smiling and made a noncommittal sound.

“There’s pros and cons about every place.”

True, but Phoyelgun was indisputably the _worst_ area of Crimimiss. A vicious and impoverished neighborhood. It was a densely populated urban den in downtown Crimimiss, bordered by the meatpacking district and a waste water treatment center.

Jasper had driven through the area a couple times with his father, when they were heading to a specialty butcher to pick up a lamb for Bastivala feasts. Those couple of times though had been _more_ than enough. And it had cemented his idea that Phoyelgun was _not_ a place to visit.

Everything there had been derelict concrete apartment blocks. Broken windows or boarded doorways on all the storefronts lining the streets. And lots of strung out kel addicts camped out the pavement, staring down passing cars with hungry eyes.

Yeah, alright… compared to Phoyelgun, Rangowen was _real_ nice.

But this was also immensely _interesting_ news about Quinn Sabian. People from Phoyelgun really didn’t tend to get out… People from Phoyelgun really didn’t tend to be _around_ for too long…

“So what happened?” Jasper said, “You left Phoyelgun and moved out to a scrapyard in the boons?”

Quinn shrugged again, back to his sphinxlike posturing. But he was also watching Jasper intently, with thoughtful, slitted eyes.

“Pretty much actually,” he said, “Well…maybe there were a couple other things between A and B… ”

Jasper would have bet everything he owned that there was more than a _couple_ things between A and B. Besides, most of this flimsy outline of a story barely made sense. If Quinn was from Phoyelgun, how and why had he ended up in this scrapyard on the outskirts of the city? And did that even matter, because it was obvious that Quinn didn’t really _live_ here now. His underground apartment seemed like a place he crashed _occasionally_ at best.

Still, Quinn seemed to be in a _sharing_ mood at the moment. Jasper needed to take advantage of this… 

“So, is this yours?” Jasper gestured out to the heaps of machinery parts in the vista before them. “Do you own this scrapyard?”

Being metiah didn’t necessarily mean you had a vast fortune or a flashy, successful enterprise. Especially if you weren’t a metiah from an _old bloodline_. Especially if you were a metiah apparently from Phoyelgun…

Yes, even though his only real experience with metiah before Quinn was Miguel de los Santos, rationally Jasper had always known there were plenty of metiah who lived relatively modest lifestyles. In fact, he was sure there metiah who were _dead broke_.

So, maybe this scrapping business was really Quinn’s main livelihood.

Though, Jasper didn’t really _believe_ that could be true…

All his instincts screamed that there was a lot more to Quinn Sabian than what he had seen here…

Quinn stared at Jasper. Amber eyes still sparkling – deep and intelligent.

“Well,” he said at length, “This scrapyard and all this surrounding property belongs to Kevin.”

And he stopped. It seems they had reached a barrier in the sharing. Jasper decided to _push_.

“And … Kevin belongs to you?”

It came out as a question, even Jasper already knew the answer. 

Quinn let a small smile crept on his face. Eyes still lidded and contemplative.

“Yes,” he said, softly, “Yes, he does.”

“But he’s not your dalmata?”

Quinn’s smile tilted further up.

“No, Tes,” he said, “I prefer to keep the Crimion government out of my business as much as possible.”

So he’d been right… Jasper inhaled, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

“But you have four suqua,” he pressed.

Immediately he regretted the words, his face flushing. He’d already pushed too far with that _topic_ last night. And he didn’t want to ruin this extremely _interesting_ conversation.

Quinn didn’t seem offended though. If anything, he just seemed _amused_. His amber eyes glimmered.

“Of course. I’d never let anything get in the way of that. Even complete bureaucratic pettiness.”

 _Bueaucratic pettiness_ was an interesting phrase for it.

Crimion law mandated that metiah were publicly _declared_ after they claimed three suqua. For the first two claims, they had the option to remain _undeclared_ and pay a tax to the Travvali in lieu of the Public Registry.

Regardless, many metiah opted to be declared immediately after their first suqua claim. Wanting to take advantage of the prestige of their status, and to obtain their seat in the General Assembly. But others waited, only becoming declared after it was mandatory…

Quinn, who clearly valued his _privacy_ , still obviously thought the consequences worth it to claim his four suqua. However, he didn’t think it was worth it to claim others legally as dalmata. Very _interesting_ …

Quinn unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted so that he was fully facing Jasper.

“So what were you and Kev talking about this morning?” he asked, still smiling, “Did you run a full interrogation on him?”

“Hmm…Well, I tried. I didn’t get very far though.”

“Oh yeah? How far did you get?”

Now was Jasper’s turn for a coy smile. Time to play a little…

“Well… he told me a very funny story about how you two met.”

And Quinn _laughed_. A rich, happy noise that vibrated in the cabin on the truck. His eyes _gleamed_.

“Alright, well, Kevin, in all the years I’ve known him, really doesn’t do _funny_ stories. So now I’m incredibly curious. What did Kev say?”

Jasper shrugged.

“You know – he said something about how he met you when you were a teenager. How you came out from here one day from Phoyelgun.”

“Oh, is that so? Kevin already told you that I was from Phoyelgun?”

“Mmm… Well, maybe not in so many words. But he did talk about how you and him and this other woman would scrap parts from crushed cars back in the day.”

Quinn hummed thoughtfully, small smile back on his full peach lips.

“That right?” he said, “Kev, me and some other woman scrapped cars? And _Kevin_ told you about this?”

“Well, it might have been Kevin… or I might have found an old photograph of you three this morning. But who can really remember.”

“I see…” 

Quinn exhaled, his gaze drifting away from Jasper, out the window.

“So who is the woman?” Jasper asked, “She was very pretty. Long black hair. Asiatic —”

“That’s Carol. Carol Lau. My suqua. My veikala.”

 _Carol Lau_.

Jasper knew the name. Of course he did. He’d memorized it months ago. Along with all the other names of Quinn’s suqua who were listed in the Public Registry. He’d stalked online for pictures of them too, but had found _nothing_. Absolutely nothing. Except private social media accounts.

So now he had some context for one out of four at least. And it was Quinn’s veikala. His _first_ claimed suqua. His suqua who was legally responsible for everything if something happened to Quinn…

He only had about a million follow-up questions at this point, but he couldn’t push this too far again.

Jasper looked back at Quinn. The metiah seemed deep in thought, his gaze off in the distance. But there was a warmth emanating from his amber eyes, like he was remembering something very _pleasant._

“Do you know what photograph I’m talking about?” Jasper finally asked, “You all looked very happy. Standing in front of smashed cars…”

“Hmm…yeah, I remember that picture. I thought I lost it actually… It’s from a long time ago… Back in the day when things were a lot different...”

“Different _better_?”

“Fuck no. But it was _simpler_ , “ Quinn said, expression wry. “We were just kids…trying to figure everything out. I guess we still are, really…”

Quinn blinked. Directed his gaze back to Jasper. An edge had crept into smile.

“You know, it’s not very nice to go nosing through other people’s things.”

Jasper flashed a smile back.

“Well, I’m not that nice.”

“Hmm…That so?”

He shifted closer to Jasper, his hand resting on the center console near his arm. Jasper became very aware of how cozy this space in the truck was… How isolated they were parked on this hill in the middle of nowhere…

“You find anything else in your snooping?” Quinn asked, voice soft, inquisitive.

“Eh, just your birth certificate, medical history and your final will and testimony. Nothing too personal really.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to find anything _startling_.”

“ _Startling_?”

“Mmmhmm,” Quinn murmured. His fingers brushed against Jasper’s. “Sometimes it can be startling if you find something you weren’t ready for … _Troubling_ , even.”

Guess they weren’t talking about photographs in Quinn’s apartment.

Before Jasper could craft a response, Quinn had grabbed the edges of his fingers, his thumb pressing over one of his nails. Warm, soothing touch that seemed to seep into Jasper’s veins. He felt that hum again, some low-grade voltage spreading through him. But it wasn’t at all like yesterday. It just felt like a weight, a presence settling against him. Not like a _seizure_.

“What do they mean?” Quinn asked, quiet and very close. Jasper blinked for a couple seconds, before he realized the other man was looking at his nails. Jasper glanced down at the designs briefly. He’d painted these a couple days ago, before turning in the last project of this semester.

“They’re stars,” Jasper said. He rotated his hand in Quinn’s hold so he could see the dark blue and silver designs. “It’s the shortest days of the year this week. The darkest. So the best time to see the stars.”

Quinn looked up.

“Gorgeous,” he said.

And despite himself, Jasper felt the blood pooling in his cheeks. Quinn was only a couple centimeters away. He could smell him – this heady scent of earth and cold winter air and herbal tea and oil.

Before Jasper could overthink it, he closed the space between them and kissed him. It was a _thorough_ exploration.

Jasper pressed his tongue into Quinn’s mouth, and the metiah parted easily. Jasper relished every curve and ridge, savoring the delicious warmth. Quinn’s arms looped around Jasper’s, drawing him closer, encouraging him to dive into him, further, deeper…

His body _hummed_. The amma _crackled_.

Jasper broke away, gulping for air. 

“Wait,” he managed, “It’s too…I don’t want…”

“What, Tes?” Quinn said, his hands winding through Jasper’s hair, forcing their eyes to meet. Jasper looked into that gaze, those bright, deep brown eyes, saturated with warmth, _kindness…_ “What don’t you want?”

Jasper made himself swallow. Tried to breathe evenly.

“I don’t want it to be like yesterday. With the brands. I want… I want to _touch_ you.”

Quinn’s smile spread. Pupils dilating into black holes.

“You sure about that?” He asked, tone deepening into something dark.

And before Jasper could respond, Quinn surged on him.

Mouth clashed against mouth. Tongue pillaging into him. Jasper felt his heart rocketing, his body becoming flushed, as Quinn pulled at his hair, and stroked his face, and pressed around his neck.

The hum persisted throughout him, reverberating down to his toes. But it was a mild background sensation that was quickly fading in his awareness, replaced by the increasing tightness in his jeans.

Quinn ripped away from the kiss. And suddenly he was moving. His long, lanky form slithered over the center console to the second row of seats in this truck. He grabbed Jasper’s arms, and dragged him back to him. And Jasper went, sliding to the back row, and mostly falling on top of Quinn.

Quinn’s legs parted and Jasper pressed into that perfect warmth between his thighs. He pushed down against Quinn, rubbed himself flush against him, thrilled by the sensation of his tall, long form, all solid, firm muscle, pinned underneath him.

He attacked the metiah’s mouth again, now all animalistic fervor. Consuming and ravaging that delicious, wet opening and skilled, snaking tongue.

Quinn wrapped a leg over Jasper, pulling him closer. His one hand coiled in Jasper’s hair, grip tight and tugging, his other hand roving down his back, his hip, further –

Fuck. Quinn grabbed his ass, his large hand squeezing over his jeans. Driving Jasper down into him, against that firm, insistent bulge. Jasper snuck a hand between them, fingers fumbling over the zipper—

 _Smack_.

Jasper jolted as Quinn’s grip was replaced by a firm swat. It wasn’t particularly hard, but it startled him up, breaking the seal of their smashed lips. His jeans were suddenly _painfully_ tight.

“Yeah,” Quinn murmured, smile sharp and conniving, “You’re real _handsy_ , aren’t you babe? Think we’re going to have to do something about that.”

And the world flipped.

Quinn twisted himself up, and Jasper found himself rolled onto his back, pressed into the car seat. Quinn straddled on top of him, keeping him pinned between his legs. The angles and space were narrow and cramped in the backseat of this truck. But none of that mattered.

The weight of Quinn – this firm, consuming presence stretched over him – it felt so absurdly _good_. Jasper arched up against him, as the metiah grabbed at his jacket, pulling it off. Then came Jasper’s sweater, tossed to the side. Leaving him in only a thin shirt.

Quinn grabbed his wrists in each hand. Pinned his arms over his head, pressing them into the seat cushions at strained angles.

Jasper was panting, his cock, hard and trapped under layers of fabric, driving up into Quinn.

Quinn loomed over him, his eyes wide and manic. Somehow his jacket come off too and he was just in a white shirt fitted tight and taut over his arms, shoulders, chest… His hair was free too, the wild blonde lock falling down.

His brown eyes glinted. His smile curled up cruelly.

“What are we going to do with you, Tes?” he purred, toying like a tiger with its prey, “I don’t think we can trust you with your hands just free and roaming around.”

A spark of panic jolted in Jasper.

Was Quinn really going to fuck with his brands again?

Before he could interject, Quinn abruptly released his wrists. Sat back up, still straddled over Jasper, and grabbed the bottom of Jasper’s shirt. And he ripped it.

He tore a length of fabric off. Then another. All as easily as Jasper might have a ripped a couple pieces of paper.

Jasper’s heart thundered in his ribs, in his throat. The show of brute strength doing some wild and primal to him.

Quinn looked down at him, wrapping the fabric strips around his palms. Fixed Jasper with the most burning, smoldering stare.

“I think,” he said, dragging out each syllable, “that we’re going to have to tie you up.”

Oh. Fuck. Yes.

Yes.

Yes, this he could very much get behind. Much, much better than being paralyzed.

“Yeah,” Jasper breathed out, amazed how hitched and strained his voice sounded, “Yeah, I think you should.”

And Quinn _beamed_ at him. A dazzling smile that pulsed throughout him, down to his curled toes.

“Put your arms back. Grab the door handle.”

And Jasper did. His hands stretched to find the thin bar on the truck’s side.

And Quinn bent forward and tied his wrists to the door, each arm individually tethered down. The knots were tight but not painful. Jasper tested the bonds, finding them sturdy and anchored, and he caught Quinn’s gaze down at him.

The metiah had bit the corner of his lip, his pupils blown wide again. He looked _entranced_. Entranced by Jasper.

And Jasper felt some wild spasm in his ribcage, and then Quinn descended on him again. Brutal, consuming, ravaging dive into his mouth. And this time all Jasper could do was really take it, his arms tied up, his body pinned and immobilized by Quinn’s weight on top him.

He felt Quinn’s own hardness drilling into him.

It felt so fucking _right_.

But then Quinn was gone. Off of Jasper. Way too far away.

“Quinn—”

“Shut up, Tes.” Quinn said, “Do I have to gag you too?”

Jasper inhaled, tensing up. He _hated_ gags… But he also kind of craved that… _sometimes_.

Quinn had moved so he was crouched by Jasper’s feet. But his gaze was intent on Jasper, eyes bright and far too thoughtful. He winked back up at him.

“Maybe another time,” the metiah said.

And started taking off Jasper’s shoes, his socks and then his pants. Then his underwear. Leaving him naked and exposed from the waist down. And from the waist up all he had on was a half-destroyed shirt and some makeshift wrists restraints.

And it dawned on him, in a surreal, almost of out body way, that they were really doing this. They were really going to have sex in a truck in a scrapyard in the middle of the day.

But all those ridiculous, rational thoughts flew away as he caught Quinn’s hungry – _ravenous_ – expression. He remained transfixed on Jasper’s bare legs, his eyes travelling up, up, up to his flushed, aroused cock.

“Quinn,” Jasper whined, forgetting he was tied down, and jerking in the bonds, “Come on—”

And Quinn _moved_.

He crawled between Jasper’s legs and hitched his knees over his shoulders. Trailing deep, bruising kisses and bites along his inner thighs, his nails clawing at Jasper’s hips, pressing him back down.

Up and up and then _finally_. That fierce, sweet suction consumed his cock again.

Jasper writhed in the onslaught as Quinn sucked him down. Such a tight, relentless lock around his length. He felt his pleasure rising uncontrollably, that white heat building.

But oh—

_FUCK._

A finger circled his hole, toying, rubbing around the sensitive rim. Jasper had no idea when or where Quinn had gotten any lube, but the digit was wet, _slick_. He pressed it inside. Hot and teasing and long. And soon another finger joined, stretching and widening and playing and searching and there— there – _fuck_.

Jasper shuddered as Quinn brushed that nub inside of him. His cock bucked deeper in Quinn’s incessant, demanding mouth that was coaxing him further and further towards that divine peak.

And then, of course, he stopped.

Slipped off Jasper’s cock with obscene, wet suction, his tongue reaching out and toying with the glistening slit.

And then he pulled off entirely, gazing up with Jasper with the wildest, predatory gleam.

“I don’t which part of you is greedier,” Quinn rasped, eyes entirely black, “This pretty cock leaking down my throat, or this tight little hole trying to suck my hand inside.”

And Quinn swirled his fingers and pressed down _hard_ inside of him. Oh gods, yes… Jasper _shuddered_ , his body pulling involuntarily against his restraints.

“Oh,” Quinn purred, “I think we have a winner.”

And he coaxed another finger inside and Jasper gasped, arching back again. The hot, slick fingers felt incredible, pulling and stretching, but it wasn’t _enough_. Not enough. He needed _more_. He needed _everything_.

“Gods,” Quinn murmured, “You’re so fucking desperate for it. Squeezing me, dragging me in.” His free hand pushed Jasper’s thigh wider. His eyes remained transfixed on Jasper’s hole, watching as he fucked his fingers further inside of him. Jasper could only imagine the sight he made, spread out like this, bare and exposed in the afternoon sun.

Fuck, the bondage had been a mistake. No matter how good it felt to tug against the restraints. But he wanted to grab Quinn. He wanted to force his infuriatingly glorious mouth down on his hole, and ride his fucking tongue. He wanted to –

 _Oh fuck_. The pressure in his cock kept intensifying as Quinn toyed with his hole. Teasing, taunting touches dragging him closer and closer. But fuck it, he didn’t want to come like this…

“Quinn,” he hissed out, “Enough. Please. I don’t –”

Quinn grabbed Jasper’s cock with his other hand. Stroking and squeezing and twisting him so _right_. Oh fuck. He felt his toes curl back, his back twisting up. Fuck, _too close_ – 

“Quinn! Please – Just – Please, just fuck me. Please, just – fuck – ”

And suddenly Quinn’s fingers were gone. Off his cock. Out of his hole. An empty, still sensation for a moment.

But Quinn had just pulled back. He heard a zipper. And then Quinn was over him. Jasper’s legs hitched over his shoulders again. His face hovered right above his.

And Jasper felt it. Thick, gorgeous pressure. Pushing into him. He struggled to breathe. Forced himself to relax and accept and take. And Quinn moved in. Slowly, persistently breaching him.

It felt – _fuck_. Quinn kept pushing and pushing in. And finally, finally, he paused, bottomed out inside of Jasper. His cock hard and molten hot and piercing him. He felt so full and consumed and _perfect_.

Gods, this was delicious … This was…

He heard some strangled, whined sound. From him. Yes, fuck, he couldn’t stop the noise. He forced his eyes open again, looked up at the man propped over him, who was staring at him with such depth and sincerity and _hunger_. Jasper thought he saw him tremble, keeping himself still and lifted above him.

Jasper strained his neck up as much as he could do while tied down. He kissed Quinn’s lips – wet and salty and tasting like _him_.

“Fuck me,” he said, “Please, fuck me.”

And Quinn did.

He withdraw back, almost out of him entirely. And then he slammed forward.

It was a rocking, manic pace.

Quinn drove into him, powerful and relentless. And Jasper rolled up to meet him thrust for thrust, his arms strained and bound and yanking at the restraints. 

Beautiful, engulfing pleasure overtook. His body hummed as Quinn kept hitting that _spot_. So good. So right. They way their bodies fit and moved together. It was too much to process. Too much to understand.

But clever Quinn had reached between them. Grabbed Jasper’s cock. Stroking and pulling and – _there_.

Yes, fuck, there.

Brilliant, perfect.

He came – jumping off that cliff edge of pleasure. 

He felt his release, wet and warm, shoot down his thighs.

And then Quinn surged forward, drilling into him, penetrating him to the core. And all Jasper could think as he rocked through Quinn’s climax – _This belonged to him. This was **his**. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Jasper learns maybe two things about Quinn. And then they have a classic 1950s date, having sex in a car at a lookout.
> 
> If I had to guess (and guessing is what I'm doing because this is all only loosely drafted at best), I'd say we're about at the halfway mark of this particular story. Only gets more crazy and convoluted from here :)
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Really love and appreciate any and all feedback.


	11. Come Over Here and Sit Next to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair Warning - This chapter is long & highly gratuitous. It probably should be two chapters but... this is all just a draft, so there we are. 
> 
> The first half of this is just complete fluffy smut. The second half is excessive world building. Take it for what you will :)

“And now it's over – we're sober –  
Symptoms of the culture.  
And the night ain't getting younger,  
Last call's around the corner.  
Feeling kinda tempted and I'm pouring out the truth.  
Just fading out these talkers 'cause now all I want is you.

I’m saying – Come over here and sit next to me.  
We can see where things go naturally.  
Just say the word and I’ll part the sea.  
Just come over here and sit next to me.”

-Foster the People, “Sit Next to Me”

_Jasper_

It had been a _good_ week.

“Fuck,” Quinn hissed, “Yes. Just – like – that.”

And Jasper took it. Quinn’s cock slid into the back palate of his mouth, as Jasper squeezed and laved the thick length with his tongue. He hadn’t had a gag reflex since he was fifteen, but he knew how to mimic the effects, forcing himself to swallow convulsively around the cock fucking his throat.

He was on his knees, his arms bound behind his back, tied wrist to elbow with his own scarf. Still fully dressed, his cock swollen, leaking and neglected in his jeans. Quinn was sprawled in the armchair above, also still clothed, except for his cock, free of his trousers and buried in the warmth of Jasper’s mouth.

They had barely gotten inside the underground apartment before jumping on each other today… as had happened most days this past week.

Now they had been playing at this for awhile. Jasper’s jaw was beginning to ache. His knees hurt, even on the faux fur rug. But Quinn had exceptional stamina and he really didn’t seem keen to give him a break.

He gripped at Jasper’s brown waves, forcing and controlling his head, as Quinn fucked himself into his mouth at a steady, moderate pace.

Jasper was sure he looked _wrecked_ at that point. He could feel his saliva, mixed with the metiah’s precum, leaking down his chin. His eyes wet and surely red, involuntarily tearing up from the pressure and difficultly breathing.

Jasper wanted to _please_ this man, but he also couldn’t keep this up forever. His body ached, his cock throbbed.

He manipulated the back of his mouth again, squeezing around the hefty length.

Quinn swore, and Jasper looked up, noting the tension in his taut stomach muscles. 

He let his mouth and throat fall perfectly pliant – just sweet, malleable suction for Quinn to fuck – and the metiah surged forward. Jasper’s nose crushed into the short, golden curls at the base, the smell musky, masculine and distinctly _Quinn_.

And suddenly he was coming into Jasper’s mouth. Some ragged breathing really the only warning, leaving Jasper no choice but to swallow quickly.

Eventually, it subsided. Jasper suckled him through the comedown as Quinn carded his fingers through his hair, massaging and stroking his scalp.

And then the metiah pulled out, his cock popping from Jasper’s mouth with an obscene, slick sound.

He looked up at Quinn, catching the wild, molten ambers eyes, glistening with pleasure.

And suddenly he was pulled up, off his knees. With some shocking strength, the metiah lifted him into his lap, his jean-covered ass rubbed against Quinn’s still exposed cock, his arms bound and crushed into the chair arm behind him.

And Quinn dived into Jasper’s wet, fucked open mouth, sucking and biting at his abused lips.

One of Quinn’s hands slivered under his shirt, plucking the first nipple they found.

Jasper ripped away from Quinn’s onslaught, struggling in the swirl of sensation.

“Quinn,” he managed, voice rasped and hoarse, “Please – I’m dying –”

Quinn responded by attacking his neck. Firm, hard bites, sucking and insistent and sending delicious shivers of pleasures straight to the most desperate part of him. 

“Fuck, please,” Jasper continued, “Please, just – touch me. _Please_.”

“I am touching you,” Quinn murmured, pulling away from his bare throat.

His one hand toyed with a nipple relentlessly, twisting and squeezing it into a hard, pebbled nub. His other arm wrapped around Jasper’s waist, fingers deep under his jeans, stroking the round globe of his ass.

“My cock,” Jasper hissed, pride quickly evaporating into nothing, “Please, just touch my cock. Please, I want –”

“What, Tes?” Quinn crooned. He stopped his assault on his nipple, and grabbed Jasper’s chin, forcing him to look him in his bright, dilated eyes. He was smiling, the expression anything but kind. “What, beautiful? Do you want to come?”

“Yes, please, _Quinn_ –”

“But what if I don’t want you to? What if I just want to play and to keep you like this.”

Quinn reached down and traced over the bulge in his jeans with his thumb. The pressure felt divine, but not enough. Nowhere near enough.

“You’re so sweet like this,” Quinn continued, rubbing into the head of Jasper’s cock through the denim. Jasper felt how wet and sticky the fabric was getting, his underwear soaking through, spreading into the jeans. “So sweet and good. I should keep you _right here_. Right here. Needy. Begging for it.”

More pressure over his jeans. Jasper felt himself pressing up, trying to get more friction and contact from Quinn’s hand.

“That’s it,” Quinn said, letting Jasper hump up into his palm, “My desperate little slut. You want it, then you need to work for it.”

So difficult to get leverage at this angle, his legs stretched over the chair arm, his arms tied behind his back. He chased upwards, grinding his clothed cock into Quinn’s hand.

“Quinn,” Jasper choked out, “Please.”

The metiah began fisting his cock through his jeans. Glorious, sweet friction. That white heat building in him.

“Just like that,” Quinn whispered, pure filth dripping into Jasper’s ears, scrambling any rationality, “Rub that needy little cock up into me. Right on the edge, right where you belong. Not coming down until _I let you_. Not coming down I until I say you can.”

“Quinn. _Please_. I need –”

“No, you need _this_ , babe. You need to be exactly here. You need your arms tied away so you can’t touch your pretty little cock. And you need to just take what I give you. Just take it. And give everything else up to me.”

Oh, _fuck_.

Quinn was pushing a lot of buttons for him. But he really needed to push _harder_ on something else. He pressed up into Quinn’s hand and the metiah closed around the bulge in his jeans, loosely fisting over his dick. Teasing, toying touches. Going to drive him insane.

“Please,” he choked out, “Please, just – ”

And then the clever fingers moved. They grabbed _tightly_ around his cock over the jeans, the grip like a vice, the friction intense as Quinn rubbed the damp fabric over him again and again and again.

It burned. Bits of pain slicing through the pleasure, but the pace kept building, building, and building. That white hot intensity growing, swelling, and fuck, he suddenly almost there –

“That’s it,” Quinn purred, “Barely even touched and you’re going to come in your jeans for me. So fucking desperate for it, so fucking hard, taking my cock down your throat. Dying to play with yourself but you couldn’t. Just giving it up to me and now you’re going to _come_. Right. Now. ”

Fuck. _Yes._ Jasper bucked into Quinn’s grip. Pushed over the edge. The pleasure sparking throughout him.

Warmth pooled in his shorts, the wetness seeping into his jeans.

Oh fuck. It felt _delicious_. That bone deep sensation curling around his bones. He sank into Quinn’s hold, all wet and dirty, and burrowed into the man’s side. The metiah tightened his grip around his back, and brought him closer, kissing his raw lips.

“Beautiful Tes,” Quinn murmured, “So fucking _sweet._ ”

The afterglow lingered but the stickiness in his crotch couldn’t be ignored.

“You ruined my clothes,” Jasper said, pointedly looking down at the mess.

Quinn kissed him. And again. And again.

“ Yes, I did. Guess you need to get naked now.”

… It had been a _good_ week.

\------------------------------------------

Sometime later they were lounging on the sofa.

Earlier, yes, Jasper had gotten naked. Quinn too. Jasper had learned over the past few days that Quinn was so unfairly gorgeous under his clothes. Long, muscled limbs, broad back, ripped abdominals, a mouthwatering cock… It was all obscene.

Jasper had stripped to get in the shower in the spare bedroom, needing to clean away the grime for his release. And Quinn had followed him, claiming Jasper needed help _washing_.

It had ended with Jasper pressed forward against the white tiles, Quinn’s cock piercing into him, as he pinned Jasper’s wrists to the shower wall. 

…But eventually they had actually washed.

Now they were sprawled out the sofa. Jasper wearing some sweatpants and t-shirt he grabbed at the last minute from his own house.

He hadn’t been planning to spend the night here again (he’d already spent four of the past _seven_ nights here), but he’d grabbed some clothes at the last second, just in case. Ultimately that had been the right call, because the idea of going out into the cold winter night seemed _unfathomable_ at this point.

He was far too comfortable here. Settled between Quinn’s legs, leaning back against his chest. Quinn’s hands absently stroking up and down his arm.

Some mindless television blinked in the distance. An old Crimion film Jasper had seen a million times. He was barely watching, his eyes drooping. He was thoroughly fucked and highly sleepy now. Slipping into dreamy thoughts…

Yes, since that first night after Quinn had come back to Crimimiss, they’d spent a lot of time together in this scrapyard, in this underground apartment. Mostly having sex. Exquisite, exhaustive sex. Though they did _talk_ … just primarily about nonsense or about _Jasper_. After Quinn told him he was from Phoyelgun, it seemed his sharing mood had disappeared. And he really hadn’t shared much else about his past… or his _current_ _life_ …

But Jasper had been learning _other_ things about Quinn this week …

He learned that Quinn liked Mort horror movies, but not the violent, tortuous ones. He learned that Quinn loved to read, and had highly eclectic taste, ranging from historical biographies to scientific studies to sappy romance novels. He learned that Quinn got cold very easily and liked to bundle himself in multiple sweaters and blankets. He learned that Quinn bit his lips when he was getting turned on. He learned that Quinn drank an excessive amount of herbal tea.

He learned that Quinn loved the _snow_ …

Yes, it had started snowing in the scrapyard a couple days ago. Quinn had coaxed him outside when the flakes wafted down. They ended up throwing snowballs at each other and rolling in the fresh powder…

It had been a _good_ week.

“Tes,” Quinn murmured, his baritone voice a comforting vibration against Jasper, “We should go to bed.”

And that got Jasper’s attention. He forced his eyes open.

And with his last shred of energy, he heaved himself up and around. So he was suddenly straddling Quinn’s hips, locking eyes onto the metiah.

Quinn met his gaze, expression indulgent and amused. His hands snaked around Jasper, squeezing his hips and ass, balancing him above him. 

“Oh hello,” the metiah said, with half-mast amber eyes, “Can I help you with anything?”

Yes, they had been spending a lot of time together this past week… but there was one particular, noticeable thing that they _hadn’t_ done. And Jasper wanted to change that tonight. Tonight was the night before New Year’s Eve. He’d have to go home tomorrow… and then… Well, it was the _General Assembly_. Who knew when he’d see Quinn again…

No, the time was now.

“I want to sleep with you,” Jasper said, wrapping his arms around Quinn’s neck, leaning over him, “I don’t want to sleep by myself.”

Every night Jasper had spent in this underground bunker, Quinn had led him to the spare guest room for bedtime. _Alone_.

It was … _different_. Jasper knew some long-term partners preferred to keep separate sleeping spaces. His sister Carine and her lover did. Same for his Aunt and Uncle. As well as other various acquaintances… In theory, Jasper wasn’t opposed to the concept. Snoring, different schedules, other sleep issues – it seemed like it made sense in some situations.

It just was _strange_ that Quinn didn’t seem interested in them at least _trying_ to sleep together. Especially now, when they were getting to know each other… What was the issue? 

But Quinn just smiled up him, sweet and dazzling.

“Tes,” he said, tone warm, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, babe.”

His hands rubbed over his hips, peering up at Jasper, vibe all relaxed and kind.

“Why not?” Jasper insisted, “You snore?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he smiled, “I just think it might be best for us to have some _space_. A little time to ourselves.”

“Quinn, I’m not asking to move in together. I just thought it would be nice to cuddle in bed.”

Something flashed in the metiah’s eyes. Something _wild_. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Well… that sounds… _lovely_. But it’s just … I’m always up in the middle of the night with this and that and so many things. And I’m sure it would be really annoying with all the movement and the noise and I want to make sure you get enough sleep—”

“Wow,” Jasper said. He shifted to get off of Quinn’s lap. “Okay. I didn’t need a novel’s worth of excuses. If you don’t want to sleep together, fine, whatever – ”

“Hey.” Quinn moved so he was sitting upright. He gripped tighter around Jasper’s hips, keeping him from twisting away. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not – “ He sighed. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Now.”

“Why? I don’t care if you have to get up in the middle of the night. I grew up in a house with five siblings and thin walls. There is always something going on at all hours of the day. And I’m used to sleeping with my two friends who move all the time, doing who knows what. That doesn’t bother me.”

“Hmm,” Quinn said, looking thoughtful, “Are those the two friends who were with you in Rangowen the other day?”

Fuck. He had not meant to drag Marty or Lydia into this…

“That’s besides the point,” Jasper said quickly, “I’m saying if you want to sleep by yourself, fine. Just know that it’s really not for my benefit.”

“But it _really_ is. You don’t want to sleep with me,” Quinn said, eyes imploring, these warm, expressive pools of melted amber.

Jasper refused to get sucked into it.

“Okay, sure. If that’s making you feel better, great. Let’s forget it all. I’m going to bed—”

But soon as he twisted to get up, Quin surged on him. His mouth descended onto Jasper’s with pure brutal force. His hands gripped Jasper’s sides like talons. It was _searing_ sensation.

Jasper felt _it_ again. It had been there all week but as some distant, background thing. Only cognizant of it if he really _focused_ on it.

Now it was undeniable. That pulse. That wild vibration throughout him. The _amma_. 

Quinn pulled off Jasper, panting slightly. His eyes a little glazed.

“I’m trying,” he murmured, “to be a _better_ person. To give you _space_. I can … I can be _a lot_. And I don’t want it to be too much.”

The concern was palpable in those radiant brown orbs. Jasper felt himself blushing, but he forced himself to swallow. To look back at Quinn calmly.

“Is this about what happened with my brands?” Jasper asked. “I’m not some fragile little boy, Quinn. I can handle it.”

Quinn gave a small smile. Shook his head.

“It’s not about _handling_ anything, Jasper Montesquieu…” He paused. Exhaled. “But alright. It’s alright. You want a cuddle. I want a cuddle. Let’s have a cuddle.”

\---------------------------------------

So they got ready for bed. Quinn’s room was pretty similar to the spare room. Lots of boxes and baskets of random items strewn around the bed. Cluttered, messy dresser and bedside tables.

Jasper emerged from the bathroom and found Quinn already under the covers, typing something on his phone. He was wearing sleep clothes so Jasper kept his on, even though he typically slept naked. He didn’t want to jar the other man, who was clearly _hesitant_ about this whole arrangement to begin with.

So Jasper slipped under the thick duvet without fanfare. Curled into the metiah’s side.

He felt _good_. Warm and solid. Everything smelled like Quinn too. Earthy, masculine. Jasper breathed deeply against Quinn’s chest. He could feel himself relaxing.

The metiah put his phone to the side. Turned off the lights. And he laid down, drawing Jasper close, so that he was pulled mostly on top of him. Quinn’s arms wrapped around him, embrace strong and tight and unyielding.

And Jasper drifted off.

\-------------------------------------------------------

He took another deep breath.

The scenery outside was getting very familiar again. The limestone buildings, the narrow, winding streets. They were almost back at Jasper’s house.

It was morning. Well, technically almost midday. And Jasper should have been back at his parents’ house _hours ago_.

Tonight was New Year’s Eve. A grand holiday on the Mytarri calendar. The Montesquieus hosted dozens of people each year. It was madness – that blend of chaos and tradition that only a family holiday could bring.

But rather than rush back to help with the preparations, he’d _lingered_ at Quinn’s.

Despite the metiah’s misgiving about sleeping together, the night prior had been fine. _More_ than fine.

Yes, Jasper vaguely thought Quinn had left the bed maybe once or twice in the night, but it was already mostly forgotten. He’d slept _well_.

And when he woke up, Quinn was there beside him. His morning hard on pressed snug against his thigh.

Jasper had crawled under the covers and sucked the stiff length into his mouth…

And the morning had spiraled from there…

But now, they were back in Quinn’s pickup truck, as the metiah drove him to Rangowen. Back to his home. 

Jasper looked over at the man in the driver’s seat. A bright and vivid scene on this crisp, clear winter afternoon. His wild golden hair tied up behind his head in his customary sloppy bun. Sparkling amber eyes. Smiling, full, peach lips.

Oh… fuck it.

“So,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence, “Do you have any plans tonight?”

Quinn’s smile deepened.

They turned onto Jasper’s street, but Quinn stopped and parked at the corner. It was still a bit of a walk to his parents’ house, but Jasper had asked Quinn to do this since he started driving him back home. Yes…Jasper really didn’t need his family _seeing_ Quinn – _interacting_ with Quinn. Not now. And especially not on New Year’s Eve.

He could already see his relatives’ cars parked down the block. Their house was no doubt packed and a whirlwind of activity.

Quinn turned towards him in the truck. His eyes bright, _playful_.

“You know what I’m doing tonight,” the metiah said, all smiles.

Well, maybe, kind of…But Jasper had wanted _specifics_.

“You’re with your suqua?” Jasper posed it as a question, hoping he could draw more out from the man.

“Yes, of course.” Quinn just kept smiling, all sunny and cheery, “And what about you? Looks like a full house already.”

He nodded towards the crowded street.

“Yeah. Yeah, people come over early. Help my parents. Drink. It’s going to be a feast and chaos. The same as every year.”

Jasper forced his eyes off his house. Back to Quinn.

Fuck, he just needed to do this. He took another fortifying breath. And hurried out the words.

“And what about after New Years?” he asked, “You’re going to be at the General Assembly?”

Quinn chuckled. Ran his hand through his silky hair.

“Yes, of course.” He repeated. “You know am I. You know I _have_ to.”

Jasper nodded. He managed a breath. And forced the _real_ question out.

“So…when will I see you again?”

He hated how _uncertain_ his voiced sounded. Small and hesitant in the cozy cabin of the car.

“Tes,” Quinn said, in a voice so calm and kind, that Jasper had no choice but to look back at the metiah.

And Quinn reached over to him. Grabbed his wrist. That unmistakable Mytarri gesture of _support_.

“I’ll see you as soon as the circus is done.” Quinn said, squeezing around his arm.

Jasper couldn’t stop the small smile on his face.

“So, you’re not running back off-world?”

Quinn shook his head. Amber eyes _sparkling_.

“No,” he said, “I’m planning to stick around for a while.”

There was a pause. And to Jasper’s _shock_ he continued.

“I’m going to the airport now,” he said, “My suqua are flying back in. We’re all going to stay in Crimimiss for a while. ”

Oh fuck. They _had_ really been off-world.

And now they were coming _back_.

“Well,” Jasper said, just to keep talking, “That’s great. You must be happy about that.”

“Yes. _Very_.”

And Quinn moved forward. Kissed Jasper on the lips. It started chaste, _sweet_ and rapidly deepened into something _hungry._

But Quinn pulled back. He let go of Jasper’s wrist and settled back into the driver’s seat.

“I have to go,” he said. And Jasper nodded.

He grabbed his satchel bag, and stepped out of the car.

“See you later,” he said.

“You will,” Quinn said. He smiled. Dazzling, handsome expression. “Happy New Year, Tes.”

\---------------------------------------------------------

As expected, it was the standard holiday chaos in the Montesquieu residence. A large swath of his extended family and neighbors had already descended upon the house. It was crowded, loud and so _warm_.

Jasper felt flushed all over and he couldn’t stop this stupid smile from spreading over his face. Replaying the scene from the truck over and over in his head… Quinn wasn’t _leaving_ again.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he crept back into the house, brushing past some relatives in the entrance hallway with a hurried, “Hi. Hi. Hello. Happy New Year.”

And he scurried upstairs to their second level, before anyone could start with any interrogating questions.

He wanted to change his clothes. The haphazard items he’d brought to Quinn’s wouldn’t cut it for the family festivities. And fuck, he needed to paint his nails again. And Marty and Lydia would be arriving _any minute_.

He rushed into his room, so preoccupied he didn’t even realize he was being followed.

“Hey,” his brother called out, “Where the fuck have you been?”

Jasper looked up.

His second oldest brother, Maxine, was standing the doorway. He looked at Jasper _intently_. Examining him with focused, hard eyes.

“I’ve been out,” Jasper snapped back. “Why?”

And to his surprise, Maxine stepped into his room and closed the door behind him.

“I want to talk,” he said. He moved and sat down at the chair at Jasper’s desk.

Jasper felt a jolt of panic.

Things hadn’t exactly been _good_ between him and Maxine since everything had gone down with Miguel. Since Maxine had been caught in the crossfires and had been _discharged_ from his position with the Crimion National Defense.

What the fuck was going on now?

“Everything okay?” Jasper asked. He set his bag down and moved to sit on the edge of his bed. Looking straight into his brother’s bright blue eyes, so similar to his own.

Maxine exhaled. Rolled out his shoulders.

“The bank called the parents yesterday. They said they had reviewed their case and that they’re eligible to re-finance for the house. With a different mortgage.”

Jasper blinked. Digested those words.

“Oh,” he said at last, “Well… that’s great, right? That’s awesome news. They’re not being foreclosed on without Miguel.”

“No, they’re not,” Maxine said, “They’re keeping the house. We all get to stay. Everything is getting sorted out.”

Maxine’s words were positive but there was a palpable tension in his posture. His wide shoulders taut. His blue eyes still narrowed on Jasper.

He suspected he knew the reason.

“Well, that’s amazing,” Jasper said, cautiously, “Better than I hoped… But I guess… I guess you still haven’t heard anything about your –”

“My CO called me yesterday too,” Maxine cut in. “He was very _excited_. He told me that my removal been revoked. And that the discharge order had actually never even been _processed_. There’s not going to be any record of this in my history. I can come back to the unit after the holiday. Like it never happened.”

He paused.

Jasper could just stare at him. Not… _understanding_. Not understanding why his brother seemed so _tense_. So… _grim_.

“That’s… that’s fantastic, Maxy,” Jasper tried again, “I’m so happy. I’m so glad for you. I felt…I felt _horrible_ when everything happened with Miguel. I never wanted you to lose your job and I’m —”

“What the fuck is going on?” Maxine interrupted.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean, what the fuck is going on here? With you? With _Quinn Sabian?_ ”

Jasper blinked.

“What… what are you getting at? You know what’s going on with me and Quinn. We’re _courting_ –”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Maxine grit out, shaking his head, “I mean, what’s going on _here_? First with the bank, then me. Are you—are you and Quinn _playing_ something?”

A hollow feeling was beginning to seep into his stomach. Unsettling. Something… something wasn’t _right_.

“ _I_ ,” Jasper started, emphasizing the word, “I am not _playing_ anything. With _anyone_. This… this with the bank, and your job – that was all Miguel. And _now_ …well, I honestly don’t know. I’m pretty positive Quinn had _something_ to do with it. But I don’t how, or in what way. He definitely hasn’t told me. This is all the first I’m hearing about any of this.”

His brother just stared at him. His mouth pressed into a hard line.

“So, you didn’t know about this?” He said, “You didn’t know this was happening?”

“I don’t even know _what_ happened,” Jasper insisted, “I mean… you understand how it works, right Maxy? Quinn isn’t going to _do_ anything for us. For _me_. Not directly. Not now. You understand he won’t help—”

“I understand suqua,” Maxine snapped, “I might not be a knacky lunatic like you, but I’m not a fucking idiot, Jay. I know Quinn won’t do anything for you directly. Nothing monetary, material or influential given. I _know_. But that’s not what I’m even _talking_ about.”

“Then what?” Jasper shot back, his patience running dry, “Why do you seem so upset that you got your job back? Isn’t that what you wanted—”

“Of course it is,” Maxine grit out, “Of course, that’s what I wanted. But I also wanted to know _why_. I’m really not comfortable with random, unknown forces pulling on my strings. Especially strings that involve my family and my little brother.”

“Alright,” Jasper snapped, “So, you want to look into _why_. Fine. I can try –”

“Fuck you,” Maxine said, “I don’t need your help with this. I _already_ looked into it, Jay. That’s what I’m trying to fucking talk to you about.”

That made Jasper pause.

“Okay…” he started, “So… what then? What did you find out?”

Maxine sighed.

“You really didn’t know anything about this?” he asked, softer now. Less agitated.

“No, Maxy…” Jasper could feel his heart thumping, “No, I didn’t. What the fuck is going on?”

Maxine looked upwards for a second. Then back at Jasper.

“Alright… well, this needs to stay between us. You understand? I don’t want you telling Mama or Papa. And definitely not fucking Gui about this – he’d lose his shit.”

“Okay,” Jasper said, that hollow feeling spreading further, “That’s fine. I won’t say anything. Just fucking tell me.”

“Well…” Maxine started, “After my CO called me…I called a _friend of a friend_. This guy, who works in admin, who owes me a favor. And I just asked him to _dig_. To see if he could find where the direction to reverse my removal order came from. How that _materialized_. And he did…He called me this morning to let me know.”

“So, what? Who reversed your removal order?”

“It came from Special Ops.” Maxine paused. Sighed again. “It came from a very specific division of Special Ops. Total Black Ops unit. No one knows what the fuck they do. All elite personnel, all classified missions. And their Captain, a man named Sullivan Yalta, was the one who actually requested that I be re-instated in my Border Security unit.”

Jasper blinked at his brother. Trying to process this new development.

“So... what does that mean? What do you _think_ that means?”

“I think,” Maxine said, staring his brother down, “if Quinn Sabian was really somehow the person who helped get my position back…Well, I think it means that Quinn Sabian has real _interesting_ connections. This unit Black Ops unit, Jay… like, they’re into some _gnarly_ shit. Like these were the people on the ground the first year of the Awareness. They’re not…they’re not people you want to fuck with.”

Jasper felt numb. A wave of ice had crashed down on him.

Black Operations? What the fuck would Quinn Sabian, who seemed content to his spend his days lounging around a scrapyard, have to do with a clandestine, elite military unit that terrified his brother?

It didn’t… It didn’t make any _sense_.

“Well…” Jasper started, tentatively, “Maybe this had nothing to do with Quinn. I mean…maybe this guy, this Captain Sullivan Yalta, maybe he requested you back for some other reason.”

“For what?” Maxine said, simply, “Why the fuck would someone like that give a shit about me? He wouldn’t – unless there was something _substantial_ going on. I mean, Jay, I’ve never done fucking anything with that unit. I've barely seen them at HQ. 

“And that Captain…Capt Sully. He’s real _spooky_ , Jay. I try to avoid most of the chatter, but some of the stories… They’re _fucked._ There’s rumors he used to run with the Selvoks, with fucking _Franck Algiers_ himself. Terrorizing the fuck out of Phoyelgun.”

“Phoyelgun?” Jasper hissed, unable to stop himself.

His brother raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Phoyelgun. There’s where he’s from… Most of his unit too, I think. So you know they’re down for that rough shit. Born into it. And now this fucker knows _my name_.”

Oh, here they went. That comment snapped Jasper out of his devolving panicked spiral.

“Maxy,” he said, leaning forward, “I’ll figure this out. I’ll talk to Quinn and make sure –”

“ _No,”_ his brother snapped, “No, don’t fucking do that. Don’t say shit about this to _anyone_. Seriously, Jay. I’m not…”

He paused again. Heaved a sigh.

“I’m not telling you this because I’m worried about _me_ , you little fucking idiot. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself with the military goons. No, I’m telling you this because I’m worried about _you_. I _dug_ into this _because_ I’m worried about you. ”

He stopped and looked Jasper square in the eyes. Jasper saw the outline of himself reflected in those blue orbs, the irises the same shade as his…

“Listen, Jay,” Maxine continued, “You’re one of the smartest people I know. And honestly one of the bravest. Like some of shit you go after – I would never touch in a million years. And I deal with idiots trying to blow up our border for a living. But you’re also my little brother. So just please be fucking careful – okay? 

“I know you think you’re used to dealing with metiah, but there’s more a lot more _fucked up_ in the world than the likes of Miguel de los Santos. That real _twisted_ shit. And I just needed to make sure you’re aware of _this_. Of all the pieces at play here. The pieces I can see at least.”

And he stood up. Gruff and abrupt as ever. 

“Alright, enough of the dark and seedy underworld of the National Defense. We should go help downstairs. Help the parents.”

“Okay… yeah… I’ll be there in a minute. I just have to do my nails.”

“Alright. Don’t take forever.”

“Okay… and Maxy. _Thank you_. Thank you for…looking into this. For looking _out_ for me.”

And Maxine just nodded. And walked out of his bedroom. Leaving Jasper alone with his thoughts.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

New Years Eve passed in a kind of surreal blur for Jasper. He was there but also a thousand miles away.

He remembered the food, the drinks, the ridiculous arguments, the teasing, being squished on the sofa, surrounded by family and neighbors and friends. Lydia curled up on his lap. Marty on the floor, his back against Jasper’s legs.

They watched the fireworks display over the Palace on TV. Jasper’s brother Nolan and his sister Collette set off their own firecrackers in the garden, his little cousins shrieking and banging pots and pans as they went off.

It was loud and chaotic and everyone ate way too much food and drank way too much booze.

It was _family_.

And everyone seemed so much _happier_ and at ease with him than they had in _weeks_. So excited about the new mortgage and so relieved that Maxine had his job back. Even Guillaume, his ever-sharp and cynical oldest brother seemed _pleased_.

“I really didn’t think it would work out,” he said to Jasper at one point, “But it fucking did. You were right. That magical thinking actually worked.”

But the thoughts _lingered_. Dark idea slithered in from Maxine’s digging, despite his best efforts to keep them at bay.

So, much later, after most of the horde had stumbled home, or bunked down somewhere in the Montesquieu residence, Jasper extracted himself from between Lydia and Marty. And he stumbled downstairs to the vacant living room with his laptop in hand.

He curled up on the sofa, wrapping a blanket around himself. And he typed the name in the internet search: _Sullivan Yalta._

Not much came up. Just his public military record. It seemed he had really accelerated through the ranks. In a few decades, he had worked his way up from an enlisted private in Domestic Defense to Captain of a unit publicly called Special Operations – International Affairs.

But there it was, plain as day in this public record.

Place of Birth: _Phoyelgun_.

Maybe Quinn and he were just … friends from _childhood?_ And even if the rumors his brother had alluded to were true – that this Captain had spent his youth rollicking around Phoyelgun with the most vicious gang in Crimimiss— well, that didn’t mean Quinn had anything to do with that. Right?

It was hardly Quinn’s fault he was from an area known for ultra-violence.

And that definitely didn’t mean he was involved in that kind of shit now.

Jasper found himself analyzing the past week he’d spent with this man. Lounging on the sofa together, watching bad TV and reading trashy novels and fucking each other’s brains out…

Yeah, he was having a hard time reconciling that man who someone associated with some savage group of elite, military assassins…

But… how could he know for sure?

How could know, when he knew so little about Quinn?

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple days later, Jasper was back on the sofa in his parents’ living room.

He was _ready_. Well stocked and prepared. Thermos of coffee. Platter of snacks. Comfortable lounge clothes. Blanket. Laptop. Phone.

Yes, he was ready to camp out on the couch and do something that he had never done before.

He was going to watch the annual _General Assembly_. Live.

He clicked on the TV. The screen showed the Palace Amphitheatre. It was _buzzing_ with activity, a hive of humanity and motion, as people climbed the steps and rows, meeting and greeting with each other, moving taking their seats in the vast, imposing space.

This was all of the metiah of Crimimiss.

All coming together to decide their fate…

Yes, the metiah were indisputably the ruling class of Crimimiss. Oh, of course, over the centuries since their nation had been founded, there had been the various coups and uprisings and rebellions. The last of which was just about twenty years ago, before the Awareness…

But in all these instances, the metiah had always _won_. Just sometimes it was different metiah than those who had been in power previously.

So their government model persisted with the metiah responsible and empowered to make all the legislative decisions.

In fairness, over the years, there had been some _modifications_ made to appease the masses. But no Mytarri would claim Crimimiss as _a democracy_ by any means.

Yes – the Mytarri people voted on the legislative agenda of the General Assembly.

And yes – the Mytarri people did vote on a Chancellor, when there was a resignation or vote of confidence had been forced.

But voting in Crimimiss was _fundamentally corrupted_. No one believed the voting accurately conveyed the will of the people – more like a _sampling_ of will, at absolute best.

Some time ago, an academic had coined the term _regulated authoritarianism_ for their government model. Jasper though that summed up the state of Crimimiss quite well. 

Even if oftentimes, those “regulations” were token at best…

But one of the staples of this government model was the _General Assembly_. This body was comprised of all _declared metiah_ in Crimimiss. They met every year at the start January for an annual session. These sessions lasted for exactly two weeks. The goal every year to produce an agenda of legislation that would ultimately be passed into law.

Of course, the complete process of getting from legislative proposal to actual passed law was extremely complicated and subject to a myriad of loopholes and political nuance.

But ultimately, the General Assembly was that first step into creating laws.

And participation in the General Assembly each year was _mandatory_ for metiah. Failure to comply could result in the termination of their legal status as metiah. And while that had numerous consequences, the one that really mattered was that meant the loss of their _legal ownership of people_. Which, Jasper strongly suspected, was probably all most of them truly cared about.

So all the metiah _showed up_ for the General Assembly.

In previous years, Jasper liked to think he stayed somewhat informed of the major developments of the session. He’d typically watch the daily recap on the evening news with his family, or read the highlights online. Usually most interested in whatever shenanigans Miguel had gotten up to…

But this year, he had a lot more _active_ interest in what was happening.

And as he was still on break from university, he decided it would be worthwhile to watch this circus _live_ … Well, at least for the first day.

On the television screen the session was drawing closer and closer to start. Most of the metiah were beginning to take their final seats in their assigned rows.

On the channel, Travvali reporters were offering commentary about the structure for the day. But Jasper wasn’t really listening to their discussions. He was scanning the vast crowd shown on the screen – trying to find a head of haphazard dirty blonde hair.

But it was a rather futile search.

The current General Assembly was comprised of about _four thousand_ metiah.

There used to be a lot more – about two thousand more only twenty years ago. But that was before the Chancellor had them _killed_. 

It was recent history now – a part of the tumultuous chaos surrounding the Awareness. A part of the reason for _intense_ civil unrest at the time.

But ultimately, the Chancellor had _won_. He got the Awareness he wanted and he got to _cull_ the ranks of metiah.

And he was still very much in power as the Chancellor of the Crimion Assembly today.

His name was Alexander Kharvortski. 

And on screen, he was currently walking across stage at the center of the Palace Amphitheatre.

At that moment, Jasper’s oldest brother Guillaume bounded into their living room.

He flopped onto the armchair next to the couch where Jasper was sprawled. Immediately propped his socked feet on the coffee tabled and reclined back into his seat.

“Did I miss anything interesting?” he asked, making himself right at home.

It took Jasper a couple moments to process what was going on.

“Guillaume,” he hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

There was currently – _miraculously_ – no one else in their parents’ house. All of his family members either at work or off visiting friends. He had been expecting, _hoping_ , to watch and process this on his own. _In private_.

His brother shrugged, reaching over and grabbing one of Jasper’s pasties off the snack tray.

“Gary wanted to swap some shifts. So I have the day off.”

“Okay… But wouldn’t you rather be over at _your_ house?”

Guillaume was the only one of his siblings who had moved out, no one else able to afford their own place in the astronomical housing market that was Crimimiss. Yes, he and his wife Nadia had a very lovely bungalow, that was very much _not here_.

And yet Guillaume often seemed to ignore that expensive real estate investment. Enjoying time at the _family_ home.

“No,” his brother said, “Figured I’d just come over. See what was going on.”

“Okay…well, I was just going to watch the General Assembly.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“It’s really not a _group activity_ , Gui.”

“Well,” his brother said, turning towards him and flashing a _beaming_ grin, “It is now.”

Fuck it. Why did he even bother?

Yes, he could retreat to his bedroom and watch on his laptop… But he was comfortable here. Already settled. And the connection was better on their main television…

So he just rolled his eyes at his brother, and relaxed again on the sofa.

On the screen, the camera was still on Alexander Kharvortski. He was talking with his cabinet members who were all seated at the off-center table on the stage. All appointed by him. All other _metiah_ that he considered trustworthy and component enough to work with. None of his suqua though. Suqua weren’t permitted at the General Assembly – a marked difference from High Council sessions where metiah were permitted to bring their veikalas for support.

“You see your Quinn Sabian yet?” Guillaume asked.

And Jasper really had to get a grip on the flash of warmth, and the distinct _hum_ that pulsed through his body when his brother referred to Quinn as _his_. Gods, he was obviously just teasing… What the fuck was wrong with him?

“No,” Jasper said, “Too many people. I’m sure we’ll see a lot of Miguel though…”

Case in point. The camera was now panning the front row in the amphitheatre, where the Chancellor’s _Inner Circle_ were seated. That wasn’t an official term by any means, but it was what most people referred the metiah that Alexander _made_ to sit in the front row for every political session. These were all metiah who the Chancellor had a _close_ , personal relationship with.

Miguel de los Santos had been in the Inner Circle since he’d been declared as metiah. His suqua, the three Shamin siblings, were Alexander Kharvortski’s only nephews and niece through his husband and klanvada, Lukasz Shamin. Alexander and Miguel’s relationship was… _complicated_ at best. But one thing was certain – Alexander liked to keep a _close_ eye on Miguel. With as _tight_ of a leash as possible.

Speaking of tight leash…

“Shit,” Guillaume said, “Here comes Colin Saulmon.”

Yes, the camera had immediately focused on the newcomer entering the arena. With most everyone already seated, his late arrival was obvious and immediately commented on by the Travvali commenters on TV.

_“Yes, we’re just seeing Colin Saulmon arrive on the amphitheatre floor now. There was a fair amount of speculation as to whether or not he would attend this session, but it appears that had been unfounded. Colin Saulmon is currently on the – “_

“I wonder if he’s going to stay through the session this time. He looks pissed off. He’s so fucking hot though.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Jasper muttered to his brother, but his words held no heat.

Colin Saulmon was by the far one of the most controversial people in Crimimiss. If there was ever any exceptions to any Mytarri rule or social norm, nine times of ten it was for Colin Saulmon.

He was what they called _marsant_. A metiah who was desirable to other _metiah_. This was quite rare by itself, but in Colin’s case, it seemed to be the most vehement, extreme version of this. All exacerbated by the fact that the Chancellor himself was unabashedly _obsessed_ with him. And he made absolutely no secret of the fact that he wanted _to claim him and own him_.

The sentiment was naturally not returned. Metiah claimed others – they weren’t _claimed_. They weren’t _owned_. So, of course, every Mytarri was _fascinated_ by the complicated dynamic between the two of them. Whenever Colin and Alexander were in proximity together in public there were _hordes_ of greedy eyes on them, waiting and wondering what would go down.

Because of this, they rarely interacted in public. But when they did, it was always _something_. Something _intense_.

The camera tracked Colin’s walk to his seat, on the end of that front row. He was undeniably gorgeous - lean lines of muscle, and creamy alabaster skin and wild, rakish black hair and the most striking _grey_ eyes. But that really wasn’t what made him so… _compelling_. It was something else… some quality of _other_.

Miguel de los Santos was also _fascinated_ by Colin Saulmon. He rarely, if ever, brought him up directly while Jasper had been present at the estate. But if anyone else did, he would always get immensely _excited_ , and demand to know everything about the latest news or rumors about the man.

It was one of the reasons Miguel had wanted Fitch enrolled in the Ridgeview University project – an endeavor that Colin Saulmon was _sponsoring_.

The camera finally began to pan away from its closeup of Colin, getting a view of the full first row of the Assembly. Jasper could see Miguel again on the other side of the curved row. His headphones were in, and he was rapidly talking to someone on the phone, his eyes firmly in the direction of Colin Saulmon.

But then the camera then cut away. Back to the central stage.

Alexander Kharvortski had taken the helm at the main podium.

He looked _immaculate_. _Untouchable._ A tall, imposing presence, with long, toned limbs and broad shoulders, fitted in a dark grey suit that framed him perfectly. His black hair was quaffed impeccably off his face. His plum lips pressed in faint smile. His black eyes _glistened_ with anticipation.

He picked up an old, weathered cask iron gong and hit the instrument lightly. The tone reverberated through the hall, an immense, powerful and overwhelming sound. It kept building and building and building and –

The Chancellor grabbed the instrument. The silence was sharp, sudden, deafening.

And he began to speak.

The General Assembly had commenced.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jasper and Guillaume fell silent for a while, listening to the Chancellor’s opening remarks.

He talked for about a half hour. The audience of metiah applauding more and more passionately throughout the course of it. And by the end, a vast swath of the Assembly was on their feet, cheering in full standing ovation.

Despite himself, Jasper felt himself blinking back tears. He reached up to wipe the wetness from his eyes.

“Fuck,” Guillaume said, from his sprawled out position on the armchair, “That was a fucking good speech. Do you think he actually writes these himself?”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Jasper said. Or maybe he did. Jasper disagreed with most of the Chancellor’s policies, but he grudgingly conceded the metiah knew how to _speak_. But who really fucking cared. That wasn’t why he was watching this…

No, he wanted to get more insight into what was happening between Quinn and Miguel. He wanted to see if something came up that was related to this _Lemon_ deal…

The crowd had settled back down after Alexander Kharvortski’s speech.

The Chancellor shifted a piece of paper on the podium. Changing gears.

“Before we proceed with the legislative proposals, we need to acknowledge that we are beginning a new Bastivala cycle this year. I’m honored to introduce and initiate this cycle here in our General Assembly today. Per tradition, we will be using this cycle’s commencement to change our High Council positions as outlined by our Assembly charter. The High Council voted on their elected appointments yesterday. And they have received and ratified the appointments made by my administration.”

Alexander Kharvortski’s tone was clear, calm and perfectly positive. Masked in the banality and nonsense of political jargon. But Jasper understand what was happening here. Fuck, how did he forget? A new Bastivala cycle had begun this year. The High Council would be changed over.

The Chancellor continued.

“I confirmed with the Travvali leadership this morning. Their internal Assembly has approved our High Council. And this will now be published in the Public Registry. We thank all our outgoing members for their service and we welcome in our newcomers. These next three years are a crucial time for our nation, and I’m ready to do this important work with you all in our time ahead. With that, we will take a short recess, and resume with our first legislative proposal from the Cabinet. Thank you all.”

There was a short burst of applause as Alexander walked away from the podium and went back over to his Cabinet members.

The camera panned out to show a full view of the amphitheatre.

All the metiah were looking down at the consoles on the desks in front of them. Everyone quickly reading the Public Registry to confirm any changes to the latest High Council. It usually didn’t change much. Mostly if a metiah was old enough to reach the age of abdication. But generally it was just the _usual_ suspects. The old lineages and the most well-connected, ambitious ones… 

The Travvali commentary resumed during this wide shot of the arena.

_“That was the Chancellor, Alexander Kharvortski, confirming that the new appointments for the High Council have been ratified for this Bastivala cycle. We can verify now that five of the three hundred members from the last High Council have been removed. The Council members who were removed are – ”_

“Well,” Guillaume said, stretching up, interrupting the commentary, “If it’s a break, I think I might make some more coffee. You want anything?”

“Um, sure. Or maybe a tea actually.”

“Okay, any milk?”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Got it – I’ll… wait. Wait. Wait, what the fuck? Why are they saying Quinn Sabian’s name?”

Jasper whipped back to the television. A graphic had appeared on the screen. It listed the five metiah who had been removed from the High Council. And in another column the five new High Council members who were replacing them were listed.

The last name on the new High Council member list was _Quinn Sabian_.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Something tight and spastic had settled on his chest.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Guillaume was saying, “Your boy is making _moves_. Did you know about this? Jasper?”

Jasper didn’t answer. His eyes were transfixed on the television. The camera had panned to Quinn.

He seemed to be sitting somewhere up in higher levels of the amphitheatre. His blonde hair tied back in a topknot. His face clean of any grease or motor oil streaks. Jasper was astonished to see him wearing what seemed to be a button up shirt.

But his face. His expression. His eyes were _gleaming_. His smile, small and controlled.

“Jasper,” his brother was saying, “What the fuck is going on? Did you know about this?”

Jasper couldn’t respond. Through the shock, a barrage of emotions began to leak in. Anger, confusion, pride, joy…

Fuck.

Quinn was the real deal, wasn’t he?

And Jasper had never _wanted_ anyone more…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yes. As mentioned at the top of this chapter, I'm aware this is quite long. 
> 
> That being said, hope you all enjoy the gratuitous detail. For the smut, there will be ample more in the future. For the civics discourse... eh, doubtful. I originally included a lot more detail here about how the government of Crimimiss works. But then I tried to scale it back. The logistics are only kind of important, and not so necessary for this specific story. Hopefully I've included enough that things make sense though. 
> 
> As for some of the characters introduced at the General Assembly... well, if you've read any of my works in the past, you might remember some names :) 
> 
> Colin is truly my forever babe though <3 His character has evolved a lot over the years, and I'm very excited to write more with him in this new arc of stories I'm plotting...
> 
> Anyways, thank you all for reading. I love feedback so please feel free to leave me a comment or send an email if you have specific questions.


	12. Dark Necessities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really intended for this to be a short chapter... And then this happened. 
> 
> Warnings: Dubious consent in this one. Also, a lot of angst and emotional manipulation. Seems like a good time to remind everyone that this is a fantasy story about people with very different ethics and morals than in the real world. Hopefully that was clear from the jump though...

Chapter Twelve: Dark Necessities 

“You don’t know my mind.  
You don’t know my kind.  
Dark necessities are part of my design.”  
  
-Red Hot Chili Peppers, “Dark Necessities”

_Jasper_

_Quinn Sabian._

That first day of the General Assembly that name seemed to be _everywhere_. Every reporter and commentator and tabloid writer and politically-minded Mytarri all so _intrigued_ by the mysterious new metiah appointed to the High Council.

Jasper sat on the sofa with his family that evening. Watching the news, listening to everyone’s opinion and speculation about all of the new appointments. But none of other new appointments were anywhere near as _unknown_ as Quinn. He was the true wild card. And there were few things Mytarri loved more than to understand things that _no one else did_. The unknown, the ambiguous – yes, in those murky water there was the _potential_. There was the possibilities…

So Jasper sat, still somewhat shell-shocked, as their nation’s best journalists and analysists dove into investigating the mystery of Quinn Sabian.

But even with all their resources – all their expertise and reporting networks and investigatory experience – they ultimately found _nothing_.

It should have been surprising. But it wasn’t.

In fact, Jasper found it almost _comforting_. This idea that Quinn wasn’t just blocking out Jasper’s inquiring explorations, but also _everyone’s_.

And so this _lack_ of information became the story… 

“So then, Quinn Sabian,” Malcolm von Juuk, one of Crimimiss’s most prominent news commentators, was saying in a round table discussion, “Well, he’s just an absolute ghost. Such a shocking appointment – really one of the most shocking appointments we’re seen in probably at least four or five Bastivala cycles. Wouldn’t you agree, Julia?”

“I definitely would,” the other analyst said, “Extremely unexpected. Our team has been digging into his records and it’s _scarce_. All we have confirmation on is his date of branding, his claims of four suqua and his record of an external secondary diploma. It’s not verified yet but we have a couple anecdotal sources that say he had attended public school in the Phoyelgun district. However, it seems he didn’t graduate from Phoyelgun Secondary Academy and opted for an external diploma some years later. It’s really interesting, Mal. _Very interesting_.”

“And what about his political record? And any information on accords with other metiah?”

“None at all. We haven’t received information from any metiah about accords. However, quite a fascinating development, we have a few sources who believe they saw Quinn Sabian recently meet with _Miguel de los Santos_. Mal, I know you have discussed this with your metiah. Any you can elaborate on here?”

Jasper felt like some of his organs had disintegrated.

Oh fuck…

Of course, Miguel wouldn’t have met with Quinn _in private_ at that metiah club…

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

What did this mean?

Dimly, he registered some pressure around his wrist. His mother, sat beside him, had reached over and squeezed around his arm. But Jasper remained transfixed on the television.

Malcolm von Juuk, like many news anchors and reporters, was suqua. His metiah, Walton Volkov, actually owned the entire media conglomerate that hosted this TV channel and had been a staple of the High Council since his declaration as metiah. As such, in a token gesture of transparency, Malcolm would sometimes acknowledge his metiah as a source, but only in circumstances that explicitly _benefited_ them.

“Yes, Julia,” Malcolm said, “As I mentioned, I discussed all the new appointments with Kova earlier today. He personally has never worked with Quinn Sabian, and told me that he has never spoken with him before. But he did confirm that he knew Quinn had recently met with Miguel de los Santos.”

“And can you tell us anything further about that meeting? What it might have been about or when even this was?”

“We don’t know what they were meeting about. And it should be noted that neither Miguel or Quinn have confirmed or verified this. In fact, Quinn Sabian has not issued any public statement or comment on his new appointment. But this meeting was quite recent – just last month.”

“Truly interesting, Mal. The question, of course, is whether or not Miguel de los Santos had any part in this appointment of Quinn Sabian, and if so, _why_. It’s really quite astounding, because historically, we’ve only seen the exact _opposite_ from Miguel. He’s been incredibly vocal about certain metiah being _removed_ from High Council. But we’ve never heard or seen any indication that he has advocated or even _supported_ any new appointments.”

“Exactly, Julia. We’ll be watching this very closely. I’m personally fascinated to know what the nature of any association between Miguel and Quinn could be – ”

_Fuck._

Without even realizing it, Jasper stood up from the sofa. Moving away from the living room, the television, his family, who were calling out to him ( _“Jay? Jay? Are you alright?”_ ). No, his mind was spinning. He couldn’t take in any more words or thoughts or questions.

He stumbled, deranged and stupefied, into his bedroom, and collapsed on top of the covers.

Fuck.

Just fuck.

Fucking Miguel…

Fucking Miguel, who _loved_ the attention and the spotlight and all the curious, probing, greedy eyes. Fuck, yes, he knew Miguel lived for this…

Had this all been Miguel’s scheme? Or at least part of the scheme? Drag Quinn, who so clearly _valued_ his privacy, into the bright, hot glare of the public eye? Had it been Miguel’s influence that had put Quinn’s on the High Council in the first place?

Or was this part of a design from Quinn?

A design from both of them?

And fuck – did any of that ultimately even matter?

Because wasn’t the question – the real question, that was twisting and churning through Jasper’s veins – wasn’t the question, of course, _why_? Why the fuck was this happening?

And, more to the point, why was Quinn Sabian playing like this now?

The possibilities overwhelmed – both tantalizing and terrifying.

But one thing was for certain. The days of anonymity for his and Quinn’s courtship were _limited_. It was only a matter of time before the greedy interlopers found the connection between Quinn Sabian and Miguel de los Santos…

And when they realized it was him – Jasper Montesquieu – some knacky, university student from Rangowen… well, fuck…

What was going to happen?

And what could he _do_ about it?

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Despite his concerns, the next couple of days passed without incident. No rumors, no mutterings, no barrage of reporters camped out in front of his house…

No one still had any idea why Quinn Sabian had been appointed to the High Council. And the speculation of him and Miguel do los Santos meeting had fizzled out due to lack of further confirmation. Shockingly, Miguel seemed to be holding his tongue about the whole thing…

But on the third day of the General Assembly, something _happened_.

At least, Jasper thought it did.

He had been camped out on the sofa in the living room again. For some reason, Guillaume was also there, sprawled in his usual armchair. Jasper hadn’t really fought it. His brother’s ridiculous commentary and snide remarks were just some white background noise at this point.

The Assembly was still introducing and presenting the new legislative proposals. But after today, they would break off into the smaller sub-committees. Then they’d begin the process of revising the new legislation for the Assembly’s final vote on what would ultimately go to the High Council for further deliberation.

The last legislative packet being presented was from the Chancellor’s cabinet. The Minister of Economics, a metiah named Sierra Vasquez, was currently outlining all the clauses in the proposed bill. It was all about economic stabilization – a dense and complicated packet seeking to find a compromise on a few hot topic issues about the _global_ economy.

Of course, these laws and negotiations had been extensive and on-going since the Awareness almost twenty years ago. But there was still a lot of work to be done.

And one of the current issues Alexander Kharvortski’s administration was most galvanized about was how to create legitimate avenues for Mytarri to invest in Mortagaia enterprises. In reality, Mytarri had been investing (and controlling) Mortagaia businesses since _forever_. But that had typically been done with through aliases and schemes and fabrications. Frankly, that was how Mytarri liked and preferred to handle things…

But in this post-Awareness world, with Crimimiss now a recognized a nation, and with the morts newfound understanding of who the Mytarri were (… in theory, at least…) .. Well, the types of maneuvers that had been typical and rather straightforward in the past were now much more _complicated_.

Of course, this was what Alexander Kharvortski had wanted… To make things more difficult for other Mytarri, other metiah. It was another form of _control_ over the Mytarri’s public integration into the Mortagaia world… 

So more difficult, yes. But not _impossible_. No one wanted that…

And so, this long, laborious economic packet.

Jasper was only vaguely processing most of it.

But then something _relevant_ caught his ear. 

“Regarding publicly traded companies,” Sierra Vasquez said, “The preliminary negotiations with the G8 have included regulatory caps for Mytarri investment up to 50% for stock equity. This regulation had unanimous agreement amongst the member nations, and we are proposing this as another mandate in this packet to achieve the terms we have described – ”

“Fuck.”

“What?” Guillaume snapped up, twisting to look at Jasper, “What’s wrong?”

Shit, Jasper hadn’t realized he’d spoken…

“Nothing,” he said, too hasty, avoiding his brother’s eyes. And the older man wasn’t having it.

“Don’t nothing me. What’s going on with this? This something to do with Quinn?”

Oh gods…

Begrudgingly he looked over at Guillaume, who was now perched in his chair, watching him sharpened eyes. His brother wouldn’t let this go until he got an actual answer, always needing to be _involved_ in everything…

“I don’t know,” Jasper said honestly, “But I think it might have something to do with Miguel.”

Guillaume arched a brow. Looked between Jasper and television.

“So what’s that? Something with a mort company? A mort public company?”

“I can’t say, Gui… I don’t know enough. But yeah, maybe.”

Since Jasper had heard about the privatization of Lemon there had been nothing publicly reported in the news (Mytarri or Mortagaia) about Miguel de los Santos. Noting that would suggest that Miguel had anything to do with that deal or that any Mytarri were involved at all. As Quinn had predicted, the privatization had been credited to a group of Chinese investors. And so far nothing had contradicted this.

But Quinn had confirmed that the deal was Miguel’s – that Miguel had privatized Lemon and bought it for himself. And that Miguel would _want_ people to know that… after the General Assembly.

So what was going on with these regulations about Mytarri investments into publicly traded companies? Was Lemon considered a public company if it was in the process of being privatized? Had Miguel rushed this deal ahead of this legislation? Did the Chancellor know about this? Did other metiah? Surely this mandate on public companies would affect a lot of metiah’s schemes…

On the television, the camera had panned away from the speaker on the central stage, taking in a wide shot of the Palace Amphitheatre. Thousands of metiah watching the presentation and talking amongst themselves.

Impossible to spot Quinn in the crowd of people…

Impossible to know what Quinn was thinking. _Planning_.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

For the next few days of the General Assembly, the metiah dispersed into their smaller sub-committees to discuss and debate the proposed the legislation. Quinn Sabian, newly appointed to the High Council, would be meeting with that group.

Since this circus had started, Jasper had texted Quinn a few times. But he’d only got responses hours after he’d sent his message, with non-answers and short, barely coherent remarks.

_“How are you doing?”_ He had asked after the first day of the sub-committee meetings.

The response he’d eventually received, _“I’m alive.”_

These sub-committee days of the General Assembly weren’t televised. But Jasper had heard the stories… it all sounded _grim_. Fourteen hour days or longer as metiah battled for their agendas…Jasper could only imagine what the atmosphere was like there.

But, thankfully, he had a distraction now. The new semester had started at CIT.

Jasper had rushed back to university. Back to a rooster of classes he technically wasn’t scheduled for but none of the professors had given him a second glance at his attendance.

And he received his results back from his exams and final projects. Unofficially emailed to him, but still – he’d _aced_ everything. Straight A’s across the board.

So he threw himself back into the coding and programming and research. Trying not to obsess over the news headlines or random bits of commentary he heard from his more politically minded classmates.

And then, after the first week of classes had concluded, while Jasper was on the train back to Rangowen –

—A message appeared on his phone.

It was from _Fitch_.

_“Hi – Can we talk?”_

Jasper almost dropped his mobile.

His heartrate skyrocketed.

The emotions surged… If Fitch was willing to talk with him now... Did that mean things could be worked out between them?

But he forced himself to breathe. Inhale and exhale.

And he managed to type out a response.

_“Yes, definitely. When are you free?”_

_“How about tonight? Can I come over?”_

_“Of course.”_

\----------------------------------------------

Jasper sprang up as soon as he heard the knock on the door.

Fitch let himself into the house, as was the common custom when there was no receiving at a home. Which was pretty much always in the Montesquieu residence, as his family was hardly posh enough to have anyone receive for them. 

So Jasper leapt into the entrance, greeting him right as he walked inside.

“Hello – Oh, hi,” Fitch said, smiling a little, as he almost collided into Jasper.

“Hi,” Jasper said, grinning back.

His heart had started hammering again. A potent blend of anxiety, excitement and just fucking _relief_ …

Fuck, it had been ages since Fitch had been to his house. Since last summer at this point. And Jasper had feared, in some small, sad dark corner inhabited with his worst insecurities, that Fitch might actually never come back to him again…

But he had. He was here now. Which was so, so _good_.

Even though Jasper knew they were in for a such a _painful_ conversation…

“Fitch Delford!”

Jasper jolted around. No privacy in this house. His younger sister Collette had craned her neck over the side of the sofa, gaping at them from the living room.

“Hey Collette Montesquieu,” Fitch said, waving over to her.

No. None of this. Fitch was here for _him_ , so _Jasper_ needed to nip this inference in the bud, before any of his other lingering family members nosed their way into this. 

“Come on,” he said, grabbing the sleeve of Fitch’s coat, “Let’s go upstairs.”

So they two ended up in Jasper’s bedroom.

To his relief, Fitch shrugged off his winter coat, and sat down on Jasper’s bed, taking off his boots, the motions all reflective and uncalculated. He sat back against the pillows by the headboard, like how they’d typically hung out in this room in the past.

Jasper perched himself on top of the duvet beside him. Taking this moment of quiet and calm to observe his friend properly.

Fitch Delford looked as sweet as ever. All soft, mussed brown hair and doe-like, caramel eyes and smooth, fair lips. But his gaze was distant now, distracted in deep thought. Something solemn and hard in his expression.

Jasper forced himself to take a deep breath.

He would do this for his friend. For Fitch’s sake, he _could_ do this…

“I was really glad you texted me,” Jasper said, breaking the silence, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Fitch nodded absently. Still somewhere internal. But then he looked up at Jasper. Brown eyes wide and open and clear.

“I missed you too, Jay,” he said, “I just needed some time… some time to think about everything.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“Do you?”

Fitch paused. He shook his head a little, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a slight, ironic smile.

“Well, I guess we’ll see about that. So…” he said, lingering on the word “So… Why don’t we start with the obvious then. After you… after you left the Estate that night, Miguel told me what was going on with you. What _is_ going on with you. We’ve talked about it a lot actually, these past couple of months…”

Jasper found himself nodding, instinctively inching closer to Fitch. He had a lot of ideas about what Miguel might have said to Jasper…none of which were _good_.

“So what have you talked about?” Jasper prompted, “Me and Quinn?”

“Best to start at the beginning, don’t you think?” Fitch said.

He looked at Jasper dead-on and unflinching. His face sharpened and determined, alight with a fierceness Jasper rarely saw in his friend.

“Miguel told me,” Fitch said, “That you offered yourself to him.”

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

Well, there it was.

Laid out in simple, clean, _slicing_ words. Jasper felt his heartrate rachet up again. The anxiety and adrenaline surging as he tried to brace himself for where this was going…

“I want you to tell me what happened,” Fitch said, “I want you to tell me why you did it.”

“Fitch –”

“Don’t,” he hissed, “Don’t fucking feed me whatever patronizing bullshit that was about to come out of your mouth. I’ve thought about this a lot, and I want to know. I _have_ to know. And you owe it to me to tell me.”

Jasper closed his mouth. Thoughts, _memories_ swarming.

“Didn’t Miguel already tell you?” he said at last.

“Some,” Fitch said, shrugging, “But I want to hear it from you. I want to understand it.”

“It was _wrong_ ,” Jasper insisted, “It was a horrible mistake, and I’m so, so sorry it happened. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you – ”

“Stop it. I don’t want your apology. I want you to know what happened. I want you to tell me how you could have been so knacky, so selfish, so manipulative to _use_ me like that. To try to take what is _mine_. Because the Jasper Montesquieu I know and love isn’t like that.”

“It _wasn’t_ like that!” Jasper said, “It was nothing like that.”

“So tell me.” Fitch stared him down with blazing eyes. “Tell me what is was like.”

And Jasper sighed. But he forced himself to breathe.

Alright, yes.

He could do this. He would do this. _For Fitch_. Fitch did deserve this honesty from him… this honesty he had wanted to give, but had been _terrified_ of. Yes, hadn’t he also been so _relieved_ when Miguel had demanded his silence on this? The choice taken away…

But not anymore. No, now was time to face the consequences.

So he took a fortifying breath. And turned more fully to Fitch.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked again, looking clearly at his friend.

“Yes,” Fitch grit out, “I’m sure. Tell me.”

And so Jasper began. Telling Fitch the story he’d never told to anyone…

\-------------------------------------------------

_Two Years Ago_

He was lingering. Why was he lingering? Standing idly in this familiar hallway of the De Los Santos Estate.

He had what he had come for now – Fitch’s camera bag slung over his shoulder. He had promised Guillaume he’d get it for his wedding next month. They couldn’t afford a professional photographer after everything, but their cousin was great at taking pictures and had offered to do that as a wedding gift. But his cousin’s camera was old and unreliable, so Fitch had said they were welcome to borrow his, a model so high tech it pretty much operated on its own.

So, Jasper had come over to the De Los Santos Estate to retrieve it. Because his friend wasn’t here. Wasn’t in Crimimiss now…

No, Fitch was off-world. In Switzerland. With the _Yerlings_.

He’d been away all summer. Since pretty much the day after their graduation from Crimion Prep.

But he would come back soon. Yes, of course, he always came back. Hopefully in another month or so. But then he would be off-world again. Off to New York City this time. Off to the tantalizing prospect that was this _Ridgeview University project_.

Off…and away… and gone…

And Jasper would still be here.

Starting his first year at the Crimion Institute of Technology. His dream university, yes. But … he would be by himself. Alone. For the first time in a very long time he wouldn’t have his circle of friends around him. Lydia and Marty would be at Crimion Public University. Fitch would be off-world…

Voices echoed down the vast corridor. Jarring from his thoughts. 

Jasper hadn’t seen anyone else in the Estate since he arrived. Well, some of the staff, of course. But none of Fitch’s family. None of Miguel’s suqua.

But there were voices now. And it sounded like they were coming from Miguel’s study…

He could continue straight on. The way he had been going…The quickest way out of the Estate. After all, he had what he came here for…

 _But he didn’t, did he?_ Those vicious thoughts at the back of his mind taunted him. He still had something to do… something he _needed_ to do…

And before he could stop himself, he was walking down the other hallway. Towards the voices.

Whatever. It was fine. He’d just walk by and continue walking out. No reason to stop. No reason to linger.

But as he approached, it was apparent why he heard voices.

William Delford, Fitch’s father, was standing in the open doorway of Miguel’s study, talking to the man inside his office.

His eyes locked on Jasper as he approached.

And then it too late to turn back.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” Will said, smiling with his typical wry, half-smirk, “How are you doing? How’s the summer been?”

“Hi, William Delford. I’ve been good, thanks. Been busy.”

“Jasper Montesquieu!” A familiar voice called from inside the study.

Jasper joined Will by the open doorway, popped his head into the room.

“Miguel de los Santos,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible, “How are you?”

Miguel was sprawled out at his desk. His feet propped up on the tabletop, lounging back in his chair.

He swung his legs down as soon as he saw Jasper. Stood up and began walking towards him.

“Just fantastic,” he said, all smiles, “Come in, come in. I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk with you.”

Talk with him?

Fuck – did Miguel somehow _know_? Know what he’d been _thinking_ lately…

He forced himself to shrug off those thoughts, stepping into the study.

“Will,” Miguel was saying, finishing his other conversation, “Just fucking go and call them. And if anyone gives you trouble, tell them it’s for Rion’s fucking charity of the month, or whatever the fuck he’s doing. Alright? And shut the door.”

And Will just shook his head, but did as instructed. Backing away from the study, and shutting the door behind him.

Leaving Jasper alone with Miguel.

Jasper and Miguel had certainly been together alone before… but it wasn’t _often_.

 _If there was ever a time to do it…_ that damned, vicious voice in the back of his head insisted.

Fuck. No.

 _No_.

He forced the thoughts away. And regarded the man whirling about the room, talking easily, words careless and chipper and breezy.

“Take a seat,” the metiah was saying. He was busying himself at the bar, rummaging through the shelves, pulling out bottles, “Do you want anything to drink? I’m making this cocktail I had in London last week. Have you ever had Pimm’s? It’s just gin candy really, but so tasty with lemonade. But you forget the alcohol completely. I got absolutely pissed at this pub with Mel and her hospital mates. They just kept bringing pitchers out and wanted to play fucking pétanque. And then, of course, there was some ridiculous pub quiz about television or something, and eventually I had to get on stage, and get the moderator to just stop making up insane rules – ”

Jasper sat down on the sofa and let the nonsensical words wash over him.

He took the time to observe Miguel. He was wearing his usual preppy attire. Tight, dark jeans, rolled at the cuffs. Crisp, brightly patterned button down shirt. His dark hair curled and quaffed back carefully. The oversized, black-rimmed glasses.

Miguel turned away from the bar. Wide, bright smile stretched over his plum lips.

He was an extremely handsome man, yes, all graceful, leans limbs sculpted with toned, taut muscle. But that’s never what really caught Jasper’s attention. It was his _energy_. This constant whirl of thoughts and commentary and motion. Even when Miguel was still, the light just _percolated_ in his dark eyes. Prism of thousands of wild, scheming thoughts coalescing together.

He slunk over to the sofa and perched himself close to Jasper, handing him a drink.

“Cheers,” he said, clanking their glasses together, “To your new adventure. You must be so excited to start at CIT soon.”

“Yes,” Jasper replied, completely on autopilot, “I am.”

He took a sip of the drink. It was sweet, fruity, tart. He set it on the table.

“You know I used to spend a fair amount of time at CIT,” Miguel was saying, “When Tony was studying there…before it all got too crazy. I used to sneak in to see him in one of the old computer labs. Oh, Lyle Venter fucking _hated_ me.”

“Sounds –”

“But anyways, I’m sure you’ll have a great time. It’s the perfect place for you. All those engineering types, all on one campus. Yeah, you’re going to love it. And then, assuming everything hasn’t imploded, you can head off to New York. To the City That Never Sleeps… It’s really such an exciting time for you, Jay. I hope you’ve been enjoying this summer. Hope you’ve been able to relax some. But I haven’t seen you around though. You know you and Marty and Lyd are welcome to come round here. Use the pools or the trails or whatever.”

Miguel paused and took a sip of his drink. Looked at Jasper expectantly with those sharp, wild, _intelligent_ eyes.

Jasper swallowed. 

“Thanks, Miguel. It’s just been really busy this summer. With Guillaume’s wedding and everything.”

“Yes, of course,” Miguel smiled, “Your parents must be ecstatic. Their first wedding for one of their children. I’m sure it’s going to be a Montesquieu _event_. I’m sorry Fitch won’t be able to make it though. I know he had been looking forward to it.”

That comment jolted Jasper. He had known that Fitch most likely wouldn’t be able to attend the wedding. But he hadn’t known it was _definitely_ _not happening_. But then again, he hadn’t spoken to Fitch _in weeks_. 

“So, Fitch isn’t going to be back in Crimimiss by then?”

“No, he won’t,” Miguel said, taking another sip of the drink.

“Well…when do you think he’ll be back?”

Jasper hated how _uncertain_ his voice sounded.

Miguel put his drink back down on the coffee table. Looked over at Jasper intently. But there was something… _softer_ in his gaze.

“I know you miss him,” the metiah said, “He misses you too. But he’ll back soon, Jay.”

Not an answer, but something. Jasper decided to _press_ though. He wanted… He just needed to know….

“How’s he doing?” Jasper asked, “Has everything been okay with the Yerlings?”

“Yes, of course. Everything’s fine.” Miguel said, his black eyes piercing into Jasper’s. And to his surprise, Miguel reached over and grabbed his wrist. The grip incredibly firm. It felt like a steel manacle around his arm.

“I wanted,” Miguel continued, “to thank you. For your letters to Fitch. He’s sorry that he can’t write you back. But I know it means a lot to him that you do that. So thank you, Jay. Truly.”

Jasper had been writing Fitch every week of the summer. Long, rambling handwritten notes that were more like journal entries rather than proper correspondence.

He’d been doing this for the past four years. For the past four summers Fitch had spent in Switzerland. His friend never wrote him back. _He couldn’t_. The Yerlings were extremely strict in their rules and regulations, and Fitch had very minimal contact with the outside world while he was them.

The only exception to that was Miguel, who visited Fitch every week. And every week he took a packet of letters with him, from Fitch’s family and suqua and _Jasper_. And Jasper knew his friend read them all when he could…

“Of course,” Jasper said, “I’m happy to do that. I want him to know I’m thinking about him… and let him know what’s going on.”

Miguel nodded, his eyes thoughtful and intent on Jasper.

“I know things are going to be different this year,” he said, “I think it’s good though. That you’re all going off and doing your own things. You know, growing up and all that. But I’m very glad that you’re in Fitch’s life, Jay. You’re a _real_ , good friend to him, and I know you love him a lot.

“So I want you to know that you can come to me. If you need any help with anything or just want to talk about something. You’re welcome here. You understand me?”

Jasper felt like he couldn’t breathe. Some intense weight drilling into his chest. He was starting to sweat. But he forced himself to reply. He didn’t… he didn’t want Miguel to see the insanity sparking in the back of his brain…

“Thank you, Miguel,” he said, trying to keep his voice as measured as possible, “That…that means a lot.”

Miguel just kept staring at him. Those whirling eyes, flashing like lightning storms, piercing into him, _penetrating_ him… 

“What’s wrong, Jay?” the metiah asked, his voice soft and thoughtful, so fucking thoughtful. His grip tightened around Jasper’s wrist, bordering on painful. Any more pressure and it would definitely bruise.

He swallowed again, desperately trying to keep himself still. To not squirm away from the intensity of Miguel’s gaze.

“I’m fine,” Jasper said, “I’m just – you know, lots to do. I should probably be heading home –”

Miguel abruptly let go of Jasper’s wrist. Laughing lightly, leaning back into the side of the sofa.

“How old are you now, Jay?” he said, “Almost twenty? You really should know better than to try to lie like that.”

Jasper felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. The embarrassment bit into him. He felt his breath hitch.

Fuck…yes, of course… Of course, Miguel wouldn’t tolerate any placating pleasantries. He _knew_ that. But he was getting mixed up… It was so fucking confusing. Miguel…who was like a _friend_ to him. But also not. But also _was_ …

He really needed to be careful here. But he _couldn’t_. Not when Miguel was looking at him like that – like Jasper was made of glass, and he could see everything inside. Every cell. Every synapse in his skull. Not when he was speaking to Jasper so _openly_ , _honestly_ …

“I’m sorry,” Jasper managed, thankful he didn’t stammer, “I’m just… I haven’t been feeling well lately. Lots on my mind. About starting uni and everything. Like you said, everything is going to be different this year. And it’s just a lot.”

“What’s a lot?” Miguel pushed, “You don’t want to go to CIT anymore?”

“No,” Jasper said, “No, it’s not that. It’s just… I miss Fitch, you know.”

“I know you do. But you’ll see him again soon.”

“I just…” Jasper paused. Took a breath and forced himself to look at Miguel. “Don’t you think it would be better for Fitch to stay in Crimimiss? For these first two years? And then he could go to New York with everyone else?”

Miguel smiled, but there was an edge to now. Some sharp and cruel line had crept into the corner of his mouth.

“No,” he said, voice smooth and clear and undeniable, “No, I don’t think that would be better. And so that isn’t going to happen.”

Fuck.

But yet, Jasper couldn’t stop himself. He kept going. Kept _pressing_.

“But his life is here. His family. His friends. Everything. I don’t understand why you’re sending him alone –”

“First off,” Miguel cut in, straightening up in his seat, leaning back towards Jasper, “I’m not sending him _alone_. It’s New York, Jasper, not fucking Mars. He will be watched, he will be protected and he will be _fine_. And you _know_ that. But second, and most importantly, you don’t need to _understand_ anything about this. It’s not your right. It’s not your place. It’s not _yours_. Fitch isn’t yours.”

“He could be,” Jasper snapped, unable to restrain himself.

Oh fuck.

Oh gods.

What had he done? What was he doing?

Why was he doing this?

His heartrate hammered. Was he really going to go through with this? Was he really going to _challenge_ Miguel like this? Go _there_ with him?

… Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…

 _But isn't this what he wanted?_ The dark, persistent voiced argued. _Isn’t this why he needed to do? Needed to know and understand? Wasn’t it all just too important, too significant to just let it go unsaid… To never know? Because if there was any chance, any chance at all, he needed to know that… he needed to…_

Miguel just stared at him, those dark eyes burning like blackholes. Consuming, unstoppable gravity. His smile was fluid, shifting into something _sharp_ , something _dark_.

“Jasper,” Miguel said, voice so soft, smile so _cutting_ , “Fitch is _mine_. Completely. Above everything and anything else, he will always be mine. And as _mine_ , he will never be yours. Haven’t I made myself abundantly clear?”

He had. Many times. Many times over the years, whenever Jasper had wanted anything _more_ from Fitch. Whenever Jasper had wanted anything more than _the friendship Fitch wanted_ – Miguel had immediately and irrevocably annihilated any notion of anything _deeper_ developing between them.

Fitch might not be Mytarri, but Fitch was _claimed_. He belonged to Miguel entirely. And the metiah had made it _more than clear_ that while Jasper was allowed to love Fitch, and be his friend, he had no right to anything _more_. 

Fitch would never be his lover or his partner. No – Jasper wasn’t _approved_ for that. Jasper wasn’t _acceptable_. He would never be _acceptable_. 

Unless… _maybe_ …

Maybe…

So… he needed to _know_ … Needed to know if there was a chance …

“Yes,” Jasper said at last, drawing on every fiber of his willpower not to whither under Miguel’s crushing gaze, “Yes, Fitch is yours Miguel de los Santos. I know. Of course, I know.”

“Then what,” Miguel said, shifting closer to Jasper, “are you trying to say to me? How could Fitch be yours? I just told you I’m glad and thankful that you are in each other’s lives. And I mean that. But you don’t get him for yours in any way beyond what’s given now. He’s _mine_.”

“And me?” Jasper said. His heart seemed to abruptly stop. The hammering pulse fading into nothing. His sweating, flushed skin froze as a sharp freeze descended. But it was too late to go back. He had to see this through now. “Aren’t I yours?”

The words felt heavy and strange on his tongue. Like chunks of ice.

And strangely… he felt something _else_. Something in his _veins_ , in his hands…

But no time to wonder at that.

Miguel had crept closer to Jasper, right into his space, his leg pressed into his on the sofa, their faces inches away.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” Miguel said, voice dark and thick, like _smoke_ , “You’re for Fitch. His friend. _My_ Fitch’s friend, who he does love. And so, of course, you are mine, as is everyone who Fitch loves. I will do everything in my power to make sure those he loves are protected and cared for. That is my place and my privilege. My _right_.”

Jasper had to look away. Away from those consuming, endless black eyes. He turned and forced himself to breathe. Steady, even breaths.

But a hand grabbed his chin. Forcing his face back.

“Say it,” the metiah growled, voice piercing through Jasper’s glass skin, stabbing like icicles, “Tell me what you want to say. Tell me what you’ve wanted to say to me. Tell me what’s been gnawing at you from the inside out, until you finally, absolutely couldn’t keep it in anymore. Tell me, Jasper.”

Miguel’s hand was tight and crushing over his jawline. Persistent, demanding force.

There was no going back.

This was it.

This is why Jasper had came here…and this is what he had to do.

“I love Fitch,” Jasper said, voice barely audible, “I’m in love with Fitch.”

“I know,” Miguel said. He gave one last punishing squeeze around Jasper’s jaw and then released his hold. But he didn’t back away at all. He remained right there. Intent, intense and _overpowering_. “Continue.”

“I can’t…” Jasper started, “I can’t lose him. I want to be there for him. _Always_. I _want_ him. And I just couldn’t … I have to know… I _need_ to know. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least _try_ …”

“Tell me,” Miguel said, voice like the arctic at that point, “You need to say the words.”

“I…” Jasper took a ragged, jittering breath.

But he somehow managed to form the syllables. They rolled out, a string of rushed, panicked, _pained_ phrases.

“I can be _yours_ ,” Jasper said, “Please. I can be yours. I’ll give myself to you. Completely. Please – Whatever you want, you can have it all. Just please – I want Fitch. I need Fitch. I’ll do anything. You can have _everything_. You can have me.”

He felt _sick_.

The words almost like bile on his tongue. He was going to throw up.

And his hands. His _brands_.

It had been a soreness first, but now it was like a _burn_. Hot searing pain. Like an invasion. A foreign, alien presence mauling at him.

This wasn’t right. This was _wrong_.

In his core, as he stared into Miguel’s brutal, absorbing black eyes, he knew this _wrong_.

But he’d said it now. He couldn’t take it back. Because it was still true, wasn’t it? He would still do this, whatever it was, if he needed to… If meant he could…

“You insane knacky child,” Miguel said, words _scathing_ , “This is pathetic. You think you have any right to offer yourself to me? You think you have _anything to offer me_? You’re just a delusional, greedy little interloper. I’ve welcomed you into our home as a _friend._ But rather than grovel and thank me for tolerating you, you come to me _begging_ for _more_ , with _yourself_ on offer. As though you don’t know I can already take whatever I want from you. Whenever and however I want to.”

“Miguel, I’m –”

“Shut up. So you want to be mine, Jasper? You think you’re worthy of that? You think some knacky, low-born worm who’s managed to twist and crawl and whore his way out of his shithole station is of worthy of that? Why? Because you think you’re fucking special? Entitled? Clever? Oh, you’re not as half as smart as you think you are, Jasper. You don’t even know what fucking game you’re trying to play at here. Because if you did, you would know that you’ve already _lost_. And you have nothing to offer me now that isn’t already entirely mine.”

“Please,” Jasper managed, “I’m sorry. I just – ”

“Yes, you just _love_ Fitch, right? Of course. But you also love yourself. And the mere idea that maybe, maybe, just maybe, you could have _everything_. Everything you wanted – the power, the protection, the dreams, the _love_ – yes, that was just impossible for your knacky, delusional mind to ignore. So alright then. You want to be mine? And you’re willing to do anything? And give me everything for the privilege?”

His hands _burned_. The amma this awful churning cramp pulsing into his veins. Demanding to **stop** this.

But Jasper ignored it. Forced himself to swallow down the nausea and answer, “Yes.”

Because he had to _know_. He had to know if this was possible. Because _everything_ was worth it, if it meant…

“Stand up,” Miguel said, leaning back into the sofa, “Take off your clothes.”

Shakily, Jasper pulled himself up. His body felt flushed, _ill_. His face must have looked fever-red. But he could do this…

He stepped out of his sandals. Undressed quickly and without fanfare. And he stood in front of Miguel, as the metiah looked him over with thorough, blazing eyes.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

And Jasper compiled with gritted teeth, feeling a scorching lick of humiliation race through him. But he rotated around slowly. Letting Miguel inspect him. And when he came back to face him, he found the other man staring at him with small, cruel smile.

“Such a knacky boy, but a pretty boy,” Miguel said, “Come here.”

He gestured to his lap, and despite his resolve, Jasper found his body hesitating. Refusing to step forward.

Miguel saw the struggle, and shook his head, only smiling wider.

“You can come here,” he said, “Or you can walk out the door. You know where the door is, Jay.”

And there was something else in that tone, something in how Miguel said his nickname… The amma still burned throughout him, most prominent and painful in his _brands_ , but the nausea lessened a bit. Miguel wasn’t… Miguel wasn’t going to _harm_ him… At least he _thought_ …

So he stepped forward and straddled Miguel, thighs and knees wrapping around the other man’s hips.

Miguel’s hands went around his waist, squeezing and stroking and cupping his ass in swift, propriety motions. It felt _good_. Pleasurable, comforting. Like a massage. Even as Miguel’s thumb pressed into his cleft, teasing and rubbing the sensitive, furrowed skin, ghosting and skimming over his hole.

They’d had sex before. A couple sporadic encounters over the past couple years, that Jasper had initiated for a variety of reasons…But nothing like the situation now. Never when Miguel was so _volatile_.

“Do you think you really understand what it means to belong to someone?” Miguel asked, his black eyes burning into Jasper’s. His thumb pressed deeper, playing and toying with his rim. Jasper couldn’t help but arch into the sensation, shifting back against Miguel’s hands. His arms automatically went around the other man’s neck, trying to stabilize himself.

“Do you think you understand what it means to be _suqua_? To be truly claimed and bonded to another person? To actually give someone else everything? You’re offering _everything_ but I’m certain you don’t have the slightest idea what that _means_. Why your silly words are so meaningless now… What do you actually think _everything_ is, Jasper?”

Miguel’s thumb kept circling around his hole. His hands kneading and stroking the globes of ass. Despite everything, Jasper felt his cock stirring to life, thickening and pressing into Miguel.

But it was clear that Miguel truly expected an answer, his black eyes barreling into Jasper’s.

“It’s submission,” Jasper said, trying not to let his voice unravel, “It’s complete submission. Giving someone everything that is yours – your body, your mind … ”

“And your heart,” Miguel finished. He bent forward and down. Kissed across Jasper’s chest. Caught his nipple in his teeth and tugged. Sweet, spark of pain. Not like the throbbing in his hands, less intense now, but still _there_.

“Yes – all those messy, disturbing, complicated emotions that you don’t even know what to name, or how to process. You would have to submit those too.”

And Miguel pulled back. Looked Jasper again straight in the eyes.

“But that’s still just a fraction of the everything. The submission. Before any of that there needs to be the trust. The loyalty. The love. Otherwise, there’s _nothing_. Otherwise, it’s _false_. That’s why it takes _years_ to build a suqua claim. The quickest maybe is a couple years. But probably three, four, maybe five – maybe a decade even. And even then, you still don’t know for sure. Even then, if the amma is _pulling_ , it can still be _false_.

“So you have to be _careful_. You have to be _sure_. As sure as you can be, until you feel in the fabric of your being that it is _real_. Or you will have wasted years of precious life over something that is _wrong_ and _false_. It happens though. Pursuing something _false_ … It does happen…”

Miguel removed his roving thumb and his hand off Jasper’s ass.

He brought it round to Jasper’s face, his fingers tracing his lips.

“Suck,” he said. And Jasper took the long digits into his mouth, laving and lathering them with wet.

“But you do have to start somewhere,” Miguel said, as Jasper worked, “With the everything. You have to start somewhere. And so you typically start with the _body_. Because it’s easiest. Simplest.”

Miguel popped his fingers out. An obscene wet sound.

He reached back and shoved a digit into Jasper’s stretched hole. He gasped at the penetration, the long finger fucking and twisting and curling into him. It was quickly joined by another, stretching him, playing with him.

“The body though,” Miguel continued, pulling closer, tightening his grip on Jasper’s hip, and leaning down to kiss his neck.

“The body though,” he repeated, through the kisses, the light nips, “The body almost immediately becomes _not enough_. Because you realize that bodies are fundamentally stupid and will take pleasure, pain, really all sensation from everyone and anyone. So then you need _more_.”

He draw back again.

His fingers kept pressing inside of him.

And now his other hand came and latched around his hard, plump cock, pressed and rubbing against the bulge in the metiah’s jeans.

But Miguel stopped him and took him in hand. Fisting and twisting over Jasper’s length with skilled, maddening motion. The dueling pleasure from both his cock and ass was quickly becoming too much. Jasper clamped his arms tighter behind Miguel’s neck, trying to find balance as the sensation grew, as he rocked between Miguel’s hands.

“So then you look at the _mind_ ,” Miguel said, “And unlike the body, the mind is extremely _complicated_. And what can be so easy and so simple about submission in the body… well that’s extremely difficult in the mind. And it’s extremely difficult to _fake_.”

He stopped suddenly.

The fingers in his ass slipped out. He moved his hand off Jasper’s cock.

And he looked at him with those burning, black eyes that seemed to drip inside his skull and slither into brain.

“So tell me, Jasper,” Miguel said, “You knacky, greedy child, who offers everything. Who _wants_ _everything_. Would you really be willing to give me your mind? Your thoughts, your _will_? Would you give it all up to me? Let me play with your thoughts and bend with your very sense of self, until you were absolutely, utterly and completely certain that you belonged to me? Really, could you? Would you?”

There was a shooting pain in his hands now. Real and visceral. Like someone piercing his skin. Wounding him.

The amma burned. It seemed to be _screaming_ at him. _Screaming_.

And with sudden perfect clarity, Jasper realized he was _terrified_.

Perhaps more terrified than he had ever been in his entire life –

Because there he knew there was _danger_ here.

Something he didn’t consciously understand. But he knew –

But he could barely speak. His throat constricted, stammering out the words.

“I—I don’t—”

“Well, let’s see,” Miguel continued, with the cruelest of smiles, “Let’s see what you can give, since you’re offering _everything_. But unlike you, I’m not that greedy. So how about something simple. How about a promise. A simple promise. The honor code. A gentleman’s agreement. Just a promise ….A promise that you will never _leave_ Crimimiss. No matter what opportunity or possibility comes your way, you will stay here. You will stay in Crimimiss. Promise me.”

“No.”

The word was reflective. _Desperate_. Pure, unadulterated instinct as the amma screamed and burned and clawed up his hands.

Fuck – did he still have skin? Was there fucking _blue_? He couldn’t see at this angle, and he couldn’t bring himself to move his arms, still looped around Miguel’s neck.

“No?” Miguel repeated, smiling wider and wider, “It’s just a promise, Jasper. It’s just an agreement. It’s not irreversible law. It’s not even an accord. It’s just a promise. Just a promise to stay here.”

“No,” Jasper said again, struggling to breathe. The nausea had come flooding back. He felt so _sick_.

“But you made such a compelling case earlier,” Miguel purred, “About Fitch. And your life is definitely _here_ in Crimimiss, Jasper. With your family. With your friends. _With me_. Obviously, you should stay here and focus on building up what’s here to be the best that it can be. This is your _home_. This is your _life_. This is where you need and should be. So promise me, just promise me, you’ll _stay_.”

“No,” Jasper shuddered, “No, Miguel, please. You can’t _do_ that. _Take_ that –”

“Can’t I?” Miguel said, in that lush, intoxicating, _terrifying_ tone, “Can’t I do whatever I want? Didn’t you just so sweetly offer me that? Didn’t you just offer me _everything_ as the loveliest declaration of love for my Fitch? Doesn’t that mean anything to you? How can you go back on your word now? Now just because you’re scared. Don’t you want to be _mine_? Mine _completely_?”

“No!” Jasper hissed, “No – just stop it. STOP IT. I’m not _yours._ ”

Silence for a moment. Long enough for words to seep into Jasper. Long enough for him to understand what he had done.

“I know, Jasper,” Miguel said then. His eyes looked _demonic_. Completely and utterly consuming, the black of his pupils dilated to the size of planets. His grin was wild, beaming, hypnotic. “Ssshhh. I know you’re not mine. Of course, you’re not mine. But you’re still mine to _play with_. Mine to use however I please. Mine until I _decide_ to let you go.”

And Miguel pressed up and kissed him. Hard, thorough and possessive. His fingers brushed away the wetness on Jasper’s face, his tongue burrowing relentlessly into his mouth.

Jasper felt himself shaking, _trembling_ in the metiah’s hold. But the pain, the hot-searing, jolting pain was receding from his hands. Leaving behind a dull throb. An aching, painful reminder of this absolute _disaster_.

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck how badly had he fucked this all up.

But he couldn’t curl away and cry and lick his wounds.

Miguel was consuming him. Kissing him with an unbridled intensity that short-circuited every remaining rational thought in his head.

And before he knew it, Miguel had flipped them over. Pressed him into the sofa cushions, his legs latched over Miguel’s shoulders, as the metiah unzipped his jeans and drove his thick, hard cock right into him. Relentless and burning and only lubed some spit – it _hurt_.

Jasper locked his legs around Miguel’s back, his painted nails scratching at the clothed arms, side, anywhere.

But finally Miguel was in all the way, bottomed out and enveloped inside Jasper. He grabbed Jasper’s cock, soft and limp from the fear and the panic and the pain, and began stroking, stroking, stroking. So good. Yes, this felt good. This was safe. He was safe again. The storm had passed … Miguel wouldn’t hurt him now…

And Miguel began kissing his neck, his face, his eyes – yes, still lapping up the tears –

“It’s okay,” Miguel whispered, “It’s okay, you knacky little fool. I’ve got you. I’ve got you’ve all.”

Jasper had finally relaxed into Miguel’s rough entry. He felt himself loosening, opening more, becoming pliant, and Miguel began to rock into him, stroking his cock in tandem.

His hole clenched around Miguel’s length. His hands still ached. But his cock kept getting harder and harder under Miguel’s ministrations.

Building and building and building inside of him.

And like a man possessed, Jasper came, spurting and shuddering into Miguel’s grip. And Jasper felt Miguel come, coating him inside with warmth. 

The metiah laid down on top of Jasper. Heavy and anchoring.

They remained like that for a few minutes. Miguel’s cock, still hard, still lodged deep inside him.

Eventually, he propped himself up on his elbows. Kissed Jasper’s mouth. His pupils had contracted a bit, but his eyes were still manic black pools of deep, swirling depths…

“You’re not going to tell Fitch about this,” Miguel said, “You’re not going to tell Fitch you offered yourself to me. You understand me, Jasper?”

“Yes,” Jasper managed, his voice still shaky, still trembling, “Yes, I understand. I won’t say anything.”

“Good.”

\--------------------------------------

_Present_

Absolute silence for a few moments.

Fitch just kept … _staring_ at Jasper. This _mortified_ , distressed expression frozen on his face.

“Fitch,” Jasper pleaded, reaching over to grab his friend’s arm, “Fitch, please. Say something.”

Fitch just shook his head.

And then, he was up. Off the bed. And before Jasper could say anything, do anything, Fitch had rushed into the en-suite bathroom. Slammed the door shut.

A numb, hollow feeling spread throughout his stomach as the regrets festered.

Should he not have told him?

It was clear now that Miguel had told Fitch _very_ _little_ of what had actually happened between them. Should he have just fought his friend more on this? Kept it secret?

But in his heart, even though he knew Fitch was reeling now, he still thought he’d made the right decision. It was… _important_ for Fitch to know this. To repair the trust between them. It was crucial he was honest now.

But still…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... everything you ever wanted to know about that time with Jasper and Miguel... 
> 
> I really debated doing this as a full-on, proper flashback, because sometimes that drives me nuts in how a story flows. But sometimes I think it's effective, and I hope this is one of those times... Any thoughts, please let me know. Any feedback or comments are always really appreciated :) 
> 
> Thank you all for reading!
> 
> PS - I'm debating the idea of starting a Tumblr, but to be honest, after a weird experience almost ten years ago, I haven't really used the platform much, and am not sure how it's evolved. Do people post original fiction there? Alternatively, I'm thinking of just making a normal website... But would appreciate any thoughts if anyone has strong opinions.


	13. From the Rain Comes a River Running Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Real life can be chaotic sometimes, especially in this crazy 2020. Anyways, a fair amount going on for me in these next couple months, but I'm trying to write when I can. Really enjoying writing this crazy story :) Hope everyone is staying safe and well!

“From the rain  
comes a river running wild  
that we create –  
an empire for you.”  
  
\- Of Monsters and Men, “Empire”

_Jasper_

Some time later, Fitch came back into the room.

Jasper remained seated on his bed. Watching his friend intently. His face was flushed, eyes red and puffy.

But he took a deep breath. Stared at Jasper with a forced smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to run off.”

“It’s okay,” Jasper said, just relieved Fitch had come back. He moved on the bed again, and gave Fitch room to perch on the mattress across from him. “You can take all the time you want. I didn’t mean to upset you – ”

“ _No_ ,” Fitch said, something fierce fortifying his tone, “ _No_ , Jay. I’m not upset with you. At all. I’m… Thank you for telling me that. I needed to hear that. I needed to _know_ that.”

His reddened eyes focused on Jasper.

And he reached over and grabbed Jasper’s hand. Squeezed his palm tight.

Jasper felt something in his chest tighten.

Mytarri typically didn’t touch each other’s hands, unless it was someone they explicitly loved and trusted. It was a very intimate act, bringing the amma brands so close together. But Fitch was a mort – he didn’t have amma brands. Regardless, the gesture was clear.

Jasper looked into his friend’s deep eyes, watching the swirl of emotion.

“I’m sorry,” Fitch continued, expression intent, “I’m sorry you went through that. I’m sorry Miguel treated you like that. I’m sorry you had deal with all of that _because of me_. Miguel should have never acted like that. Should have never hurt you that way. I’m sorry for all of this Jasper. And I’m so angry and upset _with him_.”

Jasper squeezed back on the hand holding his. Trying to soothe out the pain in his friend’s eyes. 

“Fitch,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as possible, “You have nothing to be sorry for. None of that was or is your fault. I decided to approach Miguel like that. I knew it was an extreme risk. I knew it most likely wouldn’t end well. But that was my choice. And it’s nothing you need to apologize for.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about this sooner though. I should have – I should have _pushed_ Miguel on that. But I was too… scared. And I thought you would be furious with me. So I just accepted it. And for that, _I’m sorry_. Everything else though – It’s fine, Fitch. You don’t need to feel badly or responsible or _sorry_ for me. I made a terrible mistake. But I’ve learned from it. And now it’s done.”

“It’s not _done_ , “ Fitch hissed, anger flashing in his eyes, “And it’s not _fine_. Miguel was so … I don’t – I don’t understand…”

Fitch faded off with a frustrated noise, looking away, rubbing his eyes with free hand. Jasper squeezed his palm tighter. Inched closer to him over the duvet.

“Are you okay?” Jasper asked, keeping his tone, soft and comforting, despite the rising panic. Fitch had deserved his honesty on this, even though Jasper had known it would _hurt_ him.

But now his friend seemed so _distraught_ by this revelation, and it was making Jasper increasingly anxious. Maybe he really shouldn’t have told him this…

…Could he have _harmed_ him by telling him this? Caused some _real_ damage? 

“No,” Fitch said, still not meeting his gaze, “No, I’m really not okay.”

Oh fuck.

“Fitch,” Jasper started, “What can I do to fix this? How can I help?”

“Fuck, Jay.”

He looked back at Jasper, staring him down. Jasper saw the intensity in his eyes. The anger. But also something … something deeply _sad_.

“I’m not angry with you,” he said, “I’m angry with _Miguel_. He should have never... _He would have never acted like that._ Not if…”

Fitch trailed off. He looked down at their joined hands. Clasped onto Jasper tightly for a few moments. And then released his grip.

He shifted back on the bed, so he was propped up against the pillows.

“Miguel…” he started again, eyes hardened and focused on Jasper, “Miguel would never have terrified you like that, if he had any intention to _claim_ you as dalmata. _Never._ He would never hurt one of _his own_ like that, so close to _harm_. That could have… that could have _harmed_ you, Jay.”

Fitch stopped, deep in thought and worry. Jasper wanted to reach out for him, _comfort_ him, but he also wanted to give Fitch space to process this. Process this past incident that Jasper didn’t think he was completely understanding…

Yes – Miguel had been exceptionally cruel. But Jasper hadn’t felt _betrayed_ by that. _Harmed_ by that… No. No, in some deep, subconscious place, Jasper thought he _understood_ why Miguel had taken it to that extreme.

So he had accepted it and moved on. No use in dwelling. No use in despairing over what he couldn’t control. He had been terrified and humiliated, but he had learned from it. And as far as Jasper was concerned, it was _done_.

“Fitch,” Jasper said, “Yes, it was _bad_ – terrible even. But I wasn’t _harmed_. And I don’t…I really don’t think that would have affected whether or not Miguel claimed me as dalmata. I mean, what about Artem? Haven’t you told me how cruel Miguel was to him?”

Artem O’Malley was Benji Shamin’s lover and partner. The couple had been courting for almost a decade before Miguel had finally agreed to claim Artem as dalmata last year. And from the snippets he’d heard from Fitch, and from a couple instances he’d witnessed firsthand, Miguel had definitely put Artem _through the paces_ for that privilege.

“That’s different,” Fitch insisted, “That was for _Benji_. Artem was for Benji. But you were for _me_. And I don’t play like Benji and Miguel fucking knows that. No… No, Miguel was _excessively_ harsh with you. Even though he _knew_ it would hurt me. And he wanted me to know it now. Now…why now?”

Silence for a moment. Fitch’s eyes drifted farther away. His mind slipping into a reverie.

“What – ?” Jasper tried, but Fitch cut him off.

“No, he wanted me to know this. To know that you wouldn’t be ours, “ Fitch said, mostly talking to himself, “That no matter what happened, you weren’t going to really be ours. Not ever in a substantial, _real_ way. Oh, fuck… Fucking hell Miga… Is that supposed to make me feel fucking better?” 

Jasper found himself a loss for words. His brain struggled with the implications of this train of thought.

But a hollow feeling seeped in. Vast and consumptive.

Was this right?

Was Fitch right? – Had Miguel _never_ intended to claim Jasper as a dalmata?

Fuck…

If that was true…

Had they just been _toyed_ with?

Toyed and manipulated into believing something _convenient_?

A wave of shame crashed over him.

Could he have actually been that fucking _stupid_?

Stupid enough to hope…

But fuck – this wasn’t just about _him_ now. For Miguel to play Jasper was one thing…

If Miguel had manipulated Fitch like that… Manipulated him into believing that he would have claimed Jasper for him…

_Oh fuck._

“Fitch,” he said, his voice tight and strained to his ears, “Does Miguel know you’re here?”

“Oh, yeah,” Fitch said softly, “I talked to him on the phone earlier. He was… _supportive_ about it. I thought he actually might give me a hard time, but he just _encouraged_ me. Thought it was good for me to see you before I went back to New York. And he must have fucking known what I would ask you about. So… why would he want me to know this _now_? Why would he fucking _hurt_ me like this? Why would…”

And then something flashed in Fitch’s eyes. Intense and alarming.

He jolted out of his reverie. Locked his eyes on Jasper.

“Jay,” he said, “I want to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth. Seriously. No misdirection and nonsense. And I won’t be angry at all. Seriously, I won’t. But please, just the truth.”

Well, that Jasper got out of his own head and worries. He felt his heart rate accelerate.

“What Fitch?” he said, fascinated and terrified of where this was going, “What do you want to ask?”

Fitch took a fortifying breath. Exhaled. Met Jasper’s gaze steadily.

“Before Quinn Sabian,” his friend said, “Before him – were there any other metiah? Any other metiah that approached you? _Courted_ you?”

Well, fuck.

Jasper found himself gaping wide-eyed back at his friend. All other worries killed as a new horrible numbness rushed over him. Froze him from the inside out.

Fuck.

Had Fitch actually lost _all trust_ in him? Did Fitch truly believe that he was so selfish, so greedy, so _knacky_ that he had played this game multiple times over? And that Jasper had kept it all from him?

He felt lost suddenly. Flailing in some undefined darkness.

“ _Fitch_ ,” he heard himself say, some strangled creak, “I’m not some insane, desperate idiot prowling around Crimimiss for metiah. I love you. I wouldn’t _hurt_ you like that. Betray your trust like that. I know that l kept what happened with Miguel and me from you, and that was _wrong_. And for that I’m sorry. And it was _wrong_ not to tell you about Quinn from the beginning. It was wrong of me to keep that from you. To have _Miguel_ be the one to tell you. And for that I’m also _so sorry_. You deserve so much better and I know I’ve fucked this entire thing up and –”

Fitch kissed him.

He moved across the bed and leaned forward. His lips pressed firmly into his. Sweet, chaste pressure.

Jasper fell silent instantly. The shock driving away all other emotions.

Fitch had only ever kissed him once before. And that had been under much different circumstances.

Jasper wanted to savor this rare sensation.

But all too soon, Fitch pulled back.

His deep brown eyes consumed Jasper.

“We both fucked up,” Fitch said, “Let’s just call it at that. I know you love me. I know you wouldn’t hurt me like that. I was just thinking – But fuck it, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.”

“But what? What about Miguel? What do you think is –”

“Nothing. Nothing that matters now anyways. We can’t change the past. Only the future. And I need you know that I love you too. And I want you to be happy, Jay. Even – “

He broke off suddenly.

Took another breath.

Smiled.

“Even,” he continued, “Even if you’re not _ours_. Because you’re still _mine_. You’re still my friend. You understand me, Jay? That’s what matters. That’s what important now.”

And Jasper nodded.

Nodded and smiled back.

Because that was _true_.

This was what was important _now_. Now – when so much was changing for them.

Yes, there was obviously something Fitch wasn’t telling him. Something he’d realized…

But no, what mattered was that Fitch was here. Back with him, in his house, on his bed. Talking with him again. Looking at him with those bright eyes.

And, just in the course of this conversation, Fitch had grabbed his hand. Kissed him sweetly and _sincerely_ , despite years of claiming that all he wanted from Jasper, and all that Jasper could have from him, was some bizarre Mortagaia concept of “platonic friendship”.

Things were _changing_.

The hollowness inside him had dissipated, replaced by some cathartic glow. Emboldened, almost _giddy_ , he grabbed Fitch’s hand again and squeezed his palm.

Fitch allowed the gesture for a few moments.

Then he pulled away. Moved back against the pillows. Some half-smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“So tell me about him,” Fitch said, “This _Quinn Sabian_. He’s courting you? What’s he like?”

\------------------------------------------

So Jasper told Fitch what he could about Quinn.

Mostly about his temperament, his sense of humor, his fixation on herbal tea, and of course, the _sex_.

Fitch rolled his eyes and shook his head through most of the graphic descriptions.

_(“You let him tie you up in his truck? Seriously? What Mytarri craziness…”)_

But all the truly personal things – the underground apartment, the scrapyard, the mumblings about Lemon, the inferences about _Quinn’s suqua_ – all of that, Jasper left unsaid.

And Fitch didn’t ask. Fitch, of course, _understood_.

Jasper was beginning to realize how invaluable it was to have friend who belonged to a metiah. Not that he hadn’t thought this before, of course. But it was different now. Fitch would be able to _understand_ …

Well… to some extent, at least.

Because unfortunately, despite everything, Fitch wasn’t Mytarri. He wasn’t suqua. He wasn’t suqua claimed. He wasn’t _branded_.

So though he wanted to tell Fitch about the insanity that had happened with his brands… he didn’t. Because how could someone who didn’t have amma understand that?

The answer, of course, was – they couldn’t.

So he kept that mystery to himself.

But there was another mystery he intended to figure out while Fitch was here. 

“Well,” Fitch said, after Jasper finished explaining how he’d coerced Quinn to finally snuggle in bed with him, “this Quinn Sabian sounds like he has a whole range of issues.”

Fitch paused. Looked at Jasper with a smile.

“But it also sounds like you like him. _A lot.”_

Jasper tried to shake his own smile off his face, but wasn’t successful.

“Well, he’s… _interesting_ ,” Jasper conceded.

“Yeah,” Fitch said, nodding along, “Yeah, very _interesting_. With his geeky interest in software engineering and your same terrible taste in television and – what was that phrase you used? – I think you said, his gorgeous cock.”

“Alright, well, that’s all just irrelevant.”

“Sure – _Irrelevant_. But then, there’s also this new little development that Quinn Sabian is now on the _High Council_. Is that irrelevant too?”

Jasper shrugged, watching Fitch’s laughing, amused eyes.

“You know I don’t give a fuck about all that _high politicking_.”

“Don’t even _try_ me,” Fitch grinned, “You give more than your share of fucks when you think it might be of some _benefit_ to you. Or what was that time with Adler Rayash?”

Jasper couldn’t help but match Fitch’s grin, remembering one of his more outlandish schemes at Crimion Prep.

“That was just an _opportunity_. Besides, that entitled child of metiah deserved it. Speaking of – Did I tell you that I ran into Cori Volkov a few weeks ago? Yeah, he was randomly at CIT for something. And he just came up to me and starting asking about the Ridgeview project. Like he had some right or reason.” 

Fitch just shook his head, smiling a bit.

“Yes, I _know_. He called me actually. Talked with me about it. He’s really going to apply to Ridgeview.”

Jasper couldn’t suppress a groan.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why are you talking with that nosy little narcissist?”

Fitch rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed.

“Why do you have such a problem with him? It’s so petty, Jay. Stop being gross and _jealous_.”

“I’m not jealous. I just find him entitled and self-absorbed and generally irritating. Him and that whole crew.”

That whole crew being a rather notorious group in their year at Crimion Prep. It had been a gaggle of children of metiah, who tended to band together. Jasper had found them all fantastically _insufferable_. Spoiled and entitled and essentially given carte blanc to do whatever they had wanted at their school, without any real consequence.

But of course – that was just _petty_ high school nonsense, from a couple years ago now.

Still… Cori Volkov particularly, _especially_ , bothered him for _other reasons_ …

Well, to be honest, _one_ specific, other reason.

Fitch just shook his head.

“That’s just bullshit. Seriously, Jay – you have to get over it. Especially if we’re all going to be at uni together.”

As soon as he said that, a shadow crossed over his face.

“I mean,” he started, “That’s if you still can –”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jasper cut in, insisting and empathic. He reached over again but this time grabbed Fitch’s wrist. Trying to convey his sincerity and his certainty in his expression.

“Don’t worry about that,” Jasper repeated, “I know Miguel won’t help me get to Ridgeview now. It doesn’t matter. I’ll find another way.”

“Jay…” Fitch said, the pain clear on his face, “…I can still – ”

 _“No._ Absolutely not. No. Fitch, you cannot ask Miguel for me. No, not now. But it will be okay. I’ll find another way. Trust me. Don’t I always find a way? Remember the honors curriculum? The internship at Data Services? The job at Mariana’s? Fuck, my scholarship to Crimion Prep in the first place? I’ve got this, Fitch. I’ll figure it out.”

Fitch exhaled. The shadow had drifted off his face, leaving a small smile. But there was still some concern in his eyes.

“Well, alright,” his friend admitted, “You do have a compelling record of getting what you want. That all being said though… how do you think your new friend Quinn Sabian feels about this plan?”

Jasper shrugged, pretending nonchalance.

“Well, he’s aware that I’m planning to go to Ridgeview. And if he has any common sense, he’s not going to have a problem with that. But if he does…well, won’t that be a cute second for him.”

“Uh huh,” Fitch said, “Well, hopefully he has some common sense then.”

“Oh, he will. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Of course you will.”

Jasper just smiled.

“It’ll all work out,” he said, tone confident, clear, “Don’t worry about it Fitch. I’ll be there.”

Here he paused. Looked straight at Fitch, and forced himself to say the words as calmly as possible. 

“Back to the high politicking though,” Jasper said, “I wanted to ask you about all of this. Quinn didn’t tell me anything about the _High Council_ appointment. He was pretty tight-lipped about the whole General Assembly – to be fair, he’s been pretty tight-lipped about most things. But, are you able to tell me? Was it Miguel who put him up for it? Is it part of whatever the fuck they’re scheming?”

Complicated and confusing lines here. At the best of times, there had always been an explicit limit to what Fitch could tell Jasper about Miguel and his various plots and plans.

Now – with Jasper _courting_ with another metiah – he had no idea what his friend might be able to tell him. So figured it was best just to ask as _plainly_ as possible. To understand clearly where the new lines were. To understand how much he could _push_ …

And this was a good place to start with.

Because Jasper was fairly confident he already knew the answer.

Fitch exhaled again. And rolled his eyes.

But there was the warmth there. Fondness and indulgence. 

“Already demanding answers. I can see how this is going to go… Well, lucky for you, this is an easy one. Because Miga had _nothing_ to do with it. I mean, seriously, Jay. Have you met Miguel? Do you think he wants anyone else on that fucking Council? He’s only been trying to decrease the membership for _years_.”

Good.

“I thought so… I just – they started talking about Quinn and Miguel on the news. And I know Miguel loves his spectacles. I just wanted to make sure this wasn’t one of his … _performances_.”

“No,” Fitch confirmed, “No performance. Miga was excited about it though.”

He paused.

He seemed to think for a moment. Then he said, “I think he likes him, Jay. I think he likes Quinn a lot. I think he also finds him… _interesting_.”

He stopped again. His expression becoming a more serious.

“But you know, the metiah that Miguel tends to like… They’re usually pretty _wild_. I mean, I know you will be, but just – just be careful, okay? And you know you can talk to me – even if you can’t say everything. I won’t block you again. I just want to make sure you know that I’m – ”

“I know,” Jasper said, “Thank you, Fitch. Really.”

Fitch nodded.

“Alright. Good.”

Another pause. And Fitch smiled at Jasper. 

“I should go now.”

“You can stay if you want,” Jasper said, hopefully. But Fitch was already shaking his head. Miguel rarely let Fitch stay overnight anywhere, especially without prior explicit permission.

“No,” Fitch was saying, “I should go back. Miga hasn’t been home since the Assembly started. Alexander has been keeping him at the Palace. I shouldn’t stay away from the Estate too long. Besides, I sent Miga some pretty _heated_ messages earlier, and I know he’ll want to check in tonight…”

It still always jolted Jasper whenever he heard Fitch refer to the Chancellor by name. Sometimes, he even called the Chancellor by his familiar name – _Khari_ – like Miguel and his suqua did. But that was Fitch’s world.

“What are you going to say to Miguel?” Jasper asked, as his friend started putting on his boots, “Fitch, please don’t feel like you have to fight with him _for me_. Seriously, I don’t want to cause any more issues for you because of – ”

“Shut up, Jay,” Fitch said. He looked over at him. Eyes burning, smile sharp. “I’ll fight with Miguel for whatever reason I want.”

Spoken like Mytarri. 

Jasper wanted to kiss him again.

\-----------------------------------------

The next week whirled by.

Jasper went back to classes at CIT, while the General Assembly marched on in the background. The metiah were still in the untelevised, sub-committee sessions. And Quinn was as terse and unresponsive as ever over text messages.

But Jasper could ignore that particular sting.

He was immersed in distractions now.

University, his work for the Vendetti app … and now Fitch was _back_.

That week felt like a little reunion.

Fitch joined him and Marty and Lydia out for dinner a couple nights. Jasper forgot how _nice_ that was, how comfortable between the four of them. In some ways, it felt like no time had passed, and that nothing had changed. The same warm banter between the group of them as it had been over the summer.

And even though Fitch would leave them before it got too late, never spending the night, it felt so good just to have him _around_ again.

Jasper wanted to just enjoy this time, unsure how long it would last.

Privately, Fitch told Jasper that he wasn’t going back to New York until after the General Assembly finished. Not until after Miguel came back to the Estate. Fitch said he was still _furious_ with him. That he’d been icing him out by phone all week, and that they would talk in person when Miguel returned home.

Jasper was glad that Fitch had confronted Miguel about this. And Jasper hoped he got whatever resolution he wanted and needed from his metiah.

However, he’d also meant what he said to Fitch earlier. He definitely didn’t need Fitch to fight Miguel on _his behalf_ – over something he’d already processed and moved on from. 

Of course, he appreciated – _loved_ – this display of support and loyalty from his friend. However, he knew it wouldn’t _change_ anything with him and Miguel now. 

And that was fine.

That was more than fine.

No, he was more than happy to avoid Miguel for the time being.

All he actually wanted from the metiah now was for him to _stop_. Just stop.

For him to stop pulling on strings and stop fucking with his life. _His family’s life_.

To get _out_ of his life.

Yes. He wanted Miguel _out_ and _gone_.

It was kind of crazy how much his thinking could change in just the span of a few months.

Last year, he had been more than ready to bind himself to Miguel. Despite everything, he had been ready and willing to become legally his as dalmata.

And now – now what had once been such a tantalizing prospect seemed _inconceivable_.

And it wasn’t just because he was courting with Quinn.

No, even if everything fell apart with Quinn, he still wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – go back to the Miguel de los Santos orbit.

Miguel had just pushed him too far over these past couple months. Hurting his family like that… And besides, if what Fitch had thought was true – that Miguel had _never_ had any intention of claiming him legally. That he had just been _toying_ with him…

Well, fuck it all then.

No, he was _done_. It was done. 

The problem, of course, was that Jasper didn’t have the _power_ to end it.

He’d walked willingly into the dragon’s lair, and now he was ensnared there. A situation made even more complicated and fraught because his best friend belonged to that dragon. 

And even though Fitch wasn’t Mytarri, wasn’t _suqua_ claimed, he was still _claimed_. Miguel owned him.

So… Jasper needed to find a way forward with Miguel. A way forward that required minimal contact and _interference_.

Not an easy endeavor by any means. Perhaps _impossible_. Impossible to expect the metiah would relinquish any type of control gained over another… unless, of course, there was some clear benefit to him and his own.

And yet… here Jasper was.

His parents’ mortgage had been restored. His brother’s job had been given back. His scholarship was now an irrelevant technicality. And Fitch was back in his life…

How and why had this happened like this?

Yes, always the _why_ …

So now, on Friday, the last day of the General Assembly, Jasper passed the time in a distracted blur.

He stumbled to the CIT campus in the morning. Shuffled from to class to class. And eventually settled in front of a trio of computer monitors in Carson’s office. Trying to work. Trying to concentrate on anything _else_ than the circus in the background.

His advisor watched him cautiously from his own desk. Jasper could feel the man’s darting glances for the majority of the afternoon. Fortunately, Carson seemed to have enough common sense to stay quiet about the whole thing.

Until, of course, he didn’t.

“Jay,” the older man finally said, craning his neck around his one of his screens, “Are you following the General Assembly news today?”

“Carson, please, I’m working,” Jasper murmured, not looking up, “I need to make more progress with this script for the next round of the Vendetti app.”

“I – I know.. I just… They’re talking about Quinn Sabian.”

It took all of Jasper’s self control not to look up.

He certainly had told Carson _nothing_ about his and Quinn’s relationship. All Carson knew for definite was that Quinn had met Jasper at CIT a few months ago, and that Quinn visited Jasper at the CIT campus a few times since then.

… And, of course, that Quinn had been _upset_ when Jasper had gone to the De Los Santos estate that night.

But, in terms of the _concrete_ , the _specific_ – Jasper had no idea what Carson thought was actually happening between him and the metiah. And he had absolutely no intention of asking him. No, he wasn’t going to add any more fuel to this particular fire.

This particular fire… which Jasper realized was going to be a particular _nuisance_.

Yes, since Quinn had been appointed to the High Council last week, Carson had been trying to _bait_ him into more discussion about it. Trying to be casual but clearly _fascinated_.

To be honest, Jasper wasn’t sure what to do with this kind of attention. It annoyed him, but it was also…Well, it wasn’t horrible, was it? Not horrible that some others knew he and Quinn were… _connected_.

Of course, that certainly didn’t mean he was ready for the entire country to know. But it was just…

Well, whatever. Whatever else he might be feeling didn’t matter now.

No, for now, best to keep things as anonymous as possible. Clearly, that was the most practical, and from all indications, that seemed to be what Quinn wanted as well…

But back to the issue of the day…

“Okay,” Jasper heard himself saying, “So, they’re talking about Quinn Sabian. What about it?”

“Well… Don’t you want to know what’s going on? Aren’t you following it?”

Of course, he did.

And, of course, he _was_.

His phone lay besides his keyboard, the notifications from the Travvali newsfeed popping up on his screen, an incessant stream of information about the final session.

And, of course, Jasper had seen the news that Quinn had voted against Alexander Kharvortski’s latest economic package. A newsworthy detail as all the greedy reporters tried to figure out the political inclinations of the new High Council appointees.

And Quinn had been the only one of this new crop to vote _against_ the Chancellor.

Bold move for someone that, prior to last week’s appointments, had barely existed in that political sphere. 

It was all… _astounding_.

But Jasper had absolutely no desire to talk about any of this with his _academic advisor_.

“Just leave it, Car,” Jasper said, still not looking up.

“Jay,” Carson pressed. But there was something else in his tone. Something _concerned_. “Jay, are you… I mean, if you want to discuss…”

“Carson,” And Jasper did finally look up. Locked onto the other man’s eyes. Spoke as clearly and calmly as he could. “I don’t want to talk about this. And, even if I did, I _can’t_. You understand me?”

Silence for a few moments.

But eventually, Carson nodded.

“Alright,” he conceded, “Just… just be _careful_ , Jay.”

Fuck - Was every single person in his life going to tell him that?

“I am, Car. Trust me, I am.”

\-------------------------------------------------

“Are you alright, Jay? You look _distracted_.”

“Letti, seriously. Enough.”

“Okay. Calm down. I just wanted to see if you wanted to go to the cinema today. You don’t have any plans, right?”

Jasper couldn’t suppress the frustrated groan.

He turned in his seat, shifting to look at his youngest sister, who was sitting across the living room, staring at him with a wide, pearly white grin.

“You think you’re being cute?” Jasper asked, looking at her pointedly.

And Collette had the audacity to grin back even wider.

“Well, I think I’m being a lot cuter than you. Are you really wearing that today?”

“What?” Jasper looked down at his clothes, “What’s wrong with this?’

“Hmm…bit tired looking, don’t you think? You might have put in a _little_ effort.”

“Oh fuck off,” Jasper hissed, “Just fuck right off.”

There was nothing _wrong_ with his clothes. Nothing wrong with the jeans and cable knit sweater he’d only fussed over for an hour this morning…

Though admittedly, that been a bit dazed after Quinn had _(finally)_ texted him, asking if he could pick him up later.

Yes, he’d been expecting to hear from Quinn after the General Assembly had finished Friday evening. But now, by Sunday afternoon, Jasper had worked himself up to such an anxious point of anticipation, that it all just seemed _surreal_.

Collette shrugged, her blue eyes, a mirror shade of Jasper’s, sparkling.

“So no movie then?”

“Letti, I swear – ”

The text message flashed on his screen.

_“I’m here.”_

Jasper jumped off his seat.

“Look, I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure you will, Jay,” Collette said, “Have fun.”

But Jasper was already gone. Coat and satchel bag grabbed and he bounded out their front door.

Crunch of snow underfoot as he rushed down their front walk, but he didn’t pay it attention. He eyes lasered in on the familiar white truck right at the end of their short drive.

He pulled open the door, climbed into the warm interior.

Quinn Sabian smiled at him from the driver’s seat. Amber eyes gleaming. Peach lips smooth, _inviting_.

“Hi, Jasper Montesquieu,” he said, with that rich, lulling cadence.

And Jasper couldn’t take it anymore. Not for another _second_.

Without any rational thought, he crashed into Quinn.

Their mouths collided, some messy, fumbling attack.

But fuck – those lips, that hot tongue that snaked inside his mouth with such certainty. Quinn felt _delicious_. And Jasper wanted – _needed_ – more.

So he realized that he was moving.

Awkward, clumsy falling, over the center console, onto the driver’s side, into Quinn’s lap. The seat rolled back, giving them more room, and Jasper straddled over Quinn’s thighs, his knees pressed and strained at odd angles in the cramped space, but he didn’t fucking care.

Quinn smelled so good. Those tangy, earthy notes. Jasper wanted to bury himself in it.

He pressed hard against Quinn’s roving mouth, as that skilled, snaking tongue continued to ravage him.

Then he felt Quinn’s arms wrap around him, squeezing him, pulling him closer, the hands grabbing and kneading his back, his hips, his ass. Jasper arched into the touch, as the hands pulled him further, closer, that growing hardness pressed firmly, enticingly under him. So, so fucking good. Those solid legs beneath him, the strong hands digging into him.

His body practically buzzed.

He felt _it_ again. Dormant for almost three weeks – almost three fucking weeks – but now the amma _pulsed_ again. That brilliant, addictive warmth that rushed through his body, flushing him from head to toes and settling in a sweet, steady _hum_ in his hands.

Quinn had broken away from his mouth now. Latched onto his neck. Nipping and sucking at the skin, all heady, manic motions.

Such a –

_Knock, knock, knock_.

Jasper jolted, the sound startling.

He looked around.

And for a few blissfully ignorant seconds he couldn’t comprehend this strange image.

His brother Guillaume was here. Peering into the car window. Staring at them with a look that could best be described as bewildered exasperation.

“Who is – ” Quinn started.

“It’s – My brother –”

And before he could continue, Quinn, for reasons unknown, pressed the button and rolled down the passenger window.

The reality of the situation crashed down as the frigid air rushed into the car.

Fucking hell. 

Jasper tried to shift off Quinn’s lap, but the metiah held him in place.

“Hi there – ” Quinn started, but Jasper cut him off.

“Guillaume, what the fuck are you doing?” He hissed.

Guillaume arched an unimpressed brow, gesturing behind him.

“You’re blocking my car,” he said.

And Jasper realized they were. Quinn’s truck was parked right in front of the Montesquieu’s driveway. Right in front of his parents’ house.

Oh fuck.

The blood pooled in his face. Acutely aware of how he looked. His skin flushed, his mouth slick, his neck freshly bitten. Straddling the metiah, Quinn’s hands wrapped tightly around over him in a purely _possessive_ hold.

A position he never had wanted his brother, or anyone from his family, to see him in, and yet, here he was …

“Alright,” Jasper managed, “We’ll move. Now just go back – ”

But, of course, his brother wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away from. He gaze darted from Jasper’s mortified face and narrowed in on Quinn.

“You must be Quinn Sabian. I’m Guillaume Montesquieu.”

“Hi, Guillaume Montesquieu,” Quinn said, all breezy and chill, like this was the most casual of conversations, like his cock wasn’t pressed into Jasper who was sprawled over his lap.

And Guillaume actually stepped closer to the truck, putting his hand over door, looking the vehicle interior over.

“This looks like a nice Ford custom job here. Where’d you pick this up in Crimimiss?”

“Oh, I did this a few years ago. Found a pretty solid F-150 and gutted it almost completely. Got the engine from – ”

“Okay, I think that’s enough conversation for today. Gui, you want to fuck off now?”

His brother shot Jasper another unimpressed look. But he raised his hand in acceptance, and backed away from the truck.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving. But if you’re looking for privacy, you might want to get out of the middle of our fucking street. Unless, you want to talk to anyone else? I can call Mama – ”

“Goodbye Gui!” Jasper snapped. And he reached over to Quinn’s arms to the window controls. Pressed the passenger window back up.

He could feel the light vibration of Quinn’s laughter underneath him.

Oh fuck this.

He twisted out of Quinn’s grip, and slide back over to the passenger seat.

“Just drive,” he demanded.

Quinn kept looking at him with those brilliant, bright eyes, smile soft and playful. But all the same, he put the truck into drive, and began to guide them down street, away from Jasper’s home.

“Why didn’t you park at the corner?” Jasper said, trying to keep his tone calm, not sulking. “I don’t need my family to be that _involved_.”

Quinn shot him a warm glance.

“I didn’t want you to have to walk in the snow.”

Jasper scoffed. But the small smile formed regardless.

“Sure you didn’t. Aren’t you just so sweet.”

Quinn reached over. Grabbed Jasper’s wrist.

He pulled Jasper’s arm closer to him, over towards the steering wheel.

And he bent down. Kissed the soft skin right below the palm of his hand. Teasing, intimate touch.

So close to the brands that pulsed under his skin. Jasper felt a wave of heat rush through him again.

He looked over at Quinn. Those amber eyes _burned_.

“I missed you, Tes,” Quinn said, so lush and low. That voice penetrated him and coiled in his veins, settling back in his groin.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Jasper said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, kind of a transitional chapter. I'd say half angst/catharsis, and the other half really just fluff :) But things are changing for Jasper... And the next chapter will mainly focus on some more... intense developments between him and Quinn <3
> 
> Anyways, I wanted to thank you all for reading this. I really appreciate all the support and the feedback I've received! It honestly motivates me a lot, and I'm happy (and often amazed) to know others are enjoying this crazy fantasy world & these insane characters that I love :) So thank you all!


	14. So Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I planned some short, simple chapter... And this happened. This is incredibly fluffy and about a third of it is smut and I'm not really too sorry about that :) Hope you all enjoy.

“Oh, how I love your pretty rock-roll kisses  
Come on and stay with me  
Roll on and run the red lights  
Come on, this love is so right.”  
  
-Dave Matthews Band, “So Right”

_Jasper_

It started off _well._ More than well – _delicious_.

Despite Quinn’s earlier hesitations about spending time in his bed, that was exactly where he pulled Jasper as soon as they stepped foot in the underground apartment.

He practically threw him on top of the mattress, stripping him of his shoes and clothes. Then he ripped off his own clothing and straddled Jasper. This glorious, solid weight above him, his hard cock pressed sublimely against him.

Fuck, this felt _good_.

He realized Quinn had leaned over the side of the bed. Grabbed something from the nightstand drawers.

And when Jasper saw what he had picked up, his own cock, flush against Quinn’s, filled even more.

Quinn just smiled down at him, eyes intent and piercing and glistening with _promise_.

He let the restraints dangle in front of him, so Jasper could see them. Not like some makeshift ties made from his own scarf or shirt – these were proper manacles. Black, polished chain link. Cuffs padded with soft, treated leather. They looked heavy and strong, implements meant for long term use.

“Want to play?” Quinn asked.

Somehow Jasper managed to roll his tongue back into his mouth and form the word, _“Yes.”_

Quinn just beamed at him.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice thick, _excited_ , “If you want me to stop, you tell me to _stop_.”

“Of course.”

The metiah leaned down then. Kissed him fully on lips.

“Good,” he murmured, hovering just millimeters above him, “Now…let’s see how many times I can get you to come for me.”

Oh _fuck_.

The words whipped through his body. Some boiling wave of pleasure. He felt himself arching up, pressing, rubbing against Quinn, against the hard planes of his stomach…against the thick, demanding his weight of his cock. 

“How many?” Jasper repeated, amazed how breathless his voice sounded already.

Quinn kissed him again. And again. And again. Firm, possessive pecks, sucking at his lips.

“Yes,” Quinn said, “Time to test your stamina, babe. I know you can come twice. What about three times?”

“Three? Well… yes. I’ve done it before.”

He had. Once. Barely. But that was besides the point.

Quinn pulled back so he had a better vantage on Jasper. His eyes dazzled, amused and _scheming_.

“Of course you have,” Quinn said, taunting, mocking, “Well, won’t this be fun for you.”

So …Quinn _chained_ him to the headboard.

Jasper’s arms stretched tight over his head, enclosed by snug cuffs, and pinned against the mattress. Tethered to the bed for Quinn to play with.

And Quinn was _playing_.

He took his time.

Toying and teasing Jasper with his mouth. He hoisted Jasper’s legs over his shoulders and sucked and kissed over his cock, his balls, before finally licking further down, down. Tonguing the rim of his hole.

Jasper was lost in the onslaught, powerless against the confident, skilled suction. He _loved_ this. Loved when people went down on him. It thrilled him, feeling so _vulnerable_ to have this part of him touched so intimately. And then Quinn slipped his tongue inside him..

Jasper _jolted_. His back arched as far off the bed as he could, which wasn’t much at all in the restraints.

This felt… It felt so fucking right. 

Quinn brought him to his first orgasm like that. His tongue down his hole, while a clever hand slithered up and fisted his cock. Sudden and intense, the orgasm ripped through him like a wave. Quinn coxed him along, playing with him throughout the crash.

So much, so good.

But was just the beginning.

After teasing him through his release, Quinn backed away. Removed his ridiculously good mouth from his ass.

And without warning, he lubed up his cock and shoved it inside of him.

Quinn had opened him up well, but the suddenness of the entry still burned. Jasper tensed, but Quinn didn’t give him a moment to adjust.

He started moving, thrusting into Jasper sharp and deep and – _fuck –_

In a blurry corner of his eye, he’d seen something _wild_ flash in Quinn’s expression as he found that spot inside him, that spot that made him roll back against the bed, trying to find anchor in the pleasure.

Yes. _Perfect_.

And so Quinn set a manic, rocking pace that eradicated any and all rationale thought. There was only sensation, as he pierced into him. Jasper’s legs hitched over Quinn’s shoulders, the metiah clutching his thigh with one hand, the other gripped over his bound wrist.

Consuming and complete and Quinn just kept going, relentlessly hitting that place inside and –

Jasper shuddered into another orgasm. His cock, untouched in this latest assault, spending sloppily onto his stomach.

Quinn quickly followed him over the edge. He surged forward, so deep and thick, like he was trying to lodge his cock into Jasper’s fucking stomach, and then he finally was coming as well.

And Jasper, dazed and overdosed in afterglow, thought that would be end of it.

But no. No, that wasn’t the _game_.

Quinn remained hard and embedded in Jasper. This brilliant, pulsing length that stretched him.

And Quinn then _resumed_. Unstopping, undeterred, he started fucking him again.

A hand snaked between them, sticky and slick from Jasper’s release, and worked him from to sensitive hilt to head.

It was _so much_.

Time passed.

No idea how long.

Blissful, impossible minutes coalesced into haze.

Building and building until Jasper was back _there_.

His eyes rolled back into his head, as Quinn, ruthless in the precision on his prostate, determinedly, stubbornly brough him to that elusive _third_ climax.

The relief shuddered through him. Jasper felt more of his own cum, dripping, pooling over his stomach.

But Quinn, still hard, keep _moving_.

Jasper writhed and twisted in his restraints, but it was useless.

He was chained down. Exhausted and drowned in pleasure.

His legs ached, lifted up and hitched around Quinn. His ass felt split, stretched, as he convulsed helplessly around the cock that kept penetrating him at impossible depth, gliding slickly and surely into him. So wet and open from Quinn’s release.

And it was in this helpless, delirious, pleasure-drunk state that Quinn decided to keep him.

Strung out on endorphins, everything too sensitive. Too much. Forced to climb up to a peak that impossible to reach. 

The heat spasmed, this erratic molten fire over his body.

Minutes trickled by. This endless, relentless loop.

Quinn was talking to him. Pure evil filth.

“Come on, babe,” he purred, “Can’t you come again for me? Doesn’t it feel so _good_ like this." 

“Quinn – please –“ he begged again, his words ragged and hoarse from his parched lips.

How long had it been like this? An hour? Two? He couldn’t come a _fourth_ fucking time. That was _insane_. Even for a healthy, young Mytarri male, that was _excessive_. “Please – I can’t –“

“Yes, yes, of course, you can,” Quinn coaxed, “Of course, you can, beautiful. Of course you can and _you will_. You’re going to come for me again.”

His hand slithered into the wet, hot space between them. Fingers stroking and massaging his cock, his spent balls. Too sensitive. Jasper tried to roll away from the touch by he couldn’t. Chained down to the bed, pressed underneath Quinn’s tall, strong form that kept digging and pushing into him. 

He’d thrown his head to the side, his neck strained, trying to look away from the insane, magnetic force of Quinn’s expression, away from the tempting, consuming light burning at the center of his eyes.

“I can’t,” he heard himself repeating, “I can’t. Please, Quinn. It’s so –oh, _fuck_ – Please!”

Quinn had changed the angle of his thrusts. Tightened the grip over his length.

Jasper felt that telltale heat building in him again, somehow pooling in his overworked dick.

“Yes,” Quinn insisted – _demanded_ – his voice dripping into his ears, “Yes, you can do it. You want it. You _crave_ it. Don’t you, Tes? You want to give it all up. Give it all up to me – everything you can. Everything you have. Yes, just give everything up to me, beautiful. I want it fucking all. Every, last _drop_.”

He squeezed around Jasper’s cock, his fingernail, toying, playing with his slit.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Was he actually going – ?

“Quinn,” he managed, “Quinn – I want… “

“I know exactly what you want, Jasper. Exactly what you _need_. Waiting for me these long two weeks. But you’ve been so patient – so _good_. And now you need me to take you _apart_. Make you fucking _fly_. And you’re going to let me. You’re going to let me take whatever I want from you, how ever many times I want it. And you’ll love every second of it and beg me for more.”

The heat consumed.

Quinn picked up the pace, pummeling into him. Jasper felt covered in fire. Everything burned, smoldered, and the embers kept alighting, growing and feeding that vast, raging flame.

“You should see yourself, Tes. So fucking beautiful. Taking my cock, pulling me inside. Even though it’s _so much_. Even though it’s drowned you. You’re flushed all over, covered in your cum, just taking it all. Chained down to my bed. Where you fucking _belong_. No, you’re not going anywhere, except over the edge again. You’re not going anywhere except where I want you. Right where _I want you_ – right where you need to be. You’re going to give me everything now. Right fucking _now_.” 

Quinn surged into him, gripped his cock, and Jasper _crashed_ into the orgasm like he toppled off a cliff. No idea what, if anything, came from his cock, but it _seared_.

Just _seared_.

Perfect potent mix of pain and pleasure.

And in some dim, distant part of his brain, he realized Quinn was coming too. Coating him inside again.

So good.

So very, very good.

Everything felt warm. His _mind_ felt warm – fuzzy, hazy.

Vaguely, he felt Quinn pull out of him.

And for a moment, he was devastated by the loss, the sudden emptiness.

But the man immediately surrounded him. His long limbs wrapped over him, anchoring and solid and it felt so fucking divine. Jasper wanted to return the embrace. To lock his arms around the other man. But he couldn’t. Why couldn’t he? Oh right, his arms were tied away, bound over his head. But that was okay. Quinn was here. Squeezing him, nuzzling into his neck.

They laid like that for a few moments.

But then Quinn whispered into his ear, “I’ll be back. Right back. Just wait here, beautiful.”

And Quinn was gone. Off the bed.

Despite being chained down, he felt untethered then. Drifting. Floating off in some void. Off into some distant place.

It was dark. His eyes had closed. Far away, he heard the sound of water, doors opening and closing, human motion and activity.

But, in a remote part of his mind, he realized there was something else here with him. Something else in this weightless void.

His amma – overwhelmed before by the incessant physical sensation – was here. Awake. Alive. He could feel it pulsing, steady and continuously, throughout him. Humming in the hands tied over his head. It felt _nice_. Something constant and now familiar while the metiah was gone.

But Quinn did come back. 

After what felt like an eternity, the warm, strong hands covered him again.

He felt some hot, damp towels on his skin. Cleaning him. Removing the grime and stickiness over his stomach, dripping from his hole. And there was something in his mouth. A plastic straw.

“Take a drink for me, Tes. That’s it, beautiful.”

Water. Yes, he was thirsty.

And then the towels were tossed to the side. Quinn stroked him all over, massaging him. Curled around him again. That delicious embrace. But Jasper couldn’t return it. He wanted to. He wanted to hold the other man back.

“Quinn,” he murmured, his voice sounding like a part of dream, “My hands…”

“Later, Tes,” the metiah said, his voice this vibrating rumble against him, “I’ll let you go later. Now, just rest.”

So he did. He slipped off into sleep.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Sometime later, Jasper was awake.

With it again. Back down to the earth.

At least, partially. He still felt a bit slow, a bit dreamy.

But he was showered, cleaned thoroughly.

Dressed in haphazard lounge clothes he’d had enough sense to grab before coming here.

He was camped out on the sofa, cocooned in some absurdly soft blankets. Behind him, Quinn clambered around in the kitchen, cooking something for dinner. Music played in the background – steady, folksy guitar with English lyrics.

Such a domestic scene. So civilized and _sweet_. Jasper wanted to scoff at the ridiculousness of this all but… well, he was far too comfortable where he was.

Eventually, Quinn came back over to sofa, carrying a couple plates piled with grilled chicken sandwiches.

He’d showered earlier as well. (Separate from Jasper thankfully, as he didn’t think he could endure any teasing from a wet, naked Quinn in his current state). But now, clothed in his typical ratty CIT sweatpants and sweater, he still looked so … _good_. Fresh. His skin all soft and golden. His long blonde hair tied up in his customary, haphazard bun. His amber eyes sparkling and bright, looking over Jasper with an expression that brought the blood rushing into his face.

Fuck, he really didn’t have any right to be this handsome.

Quinn settled close to him on the sofa. He reached over and stroked his thigh over the blanket.

“How you doing, Tes?” He asked, eyes still intent on him, “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Jasper said, honestly. He smiled at the metiah. “Just a bit tired. A bit sore.”

“Hmm. Well, that will probably be worse tomorrow,” Quinn said, smiling back. He took a bite of his sandwich, eyes gleaming.

Jasper shook his head, but he couldn’t shake the grin on his face.

“Well, aren’t you fucking pleased with yourself.”

He took a bite of his sandwich as well. It was _yum_. Good, filling comfort food. Chicken and cheese and grilled vegetables. He realized how hungry he was and began eating in earnest.

Quinn just watched him, warm amusement radiating off him.

“There’s more if you want, babe,” he said, “I can make you another sandwich.”

“I’m fine,” Jasper said between bites, “Just have to get my energy back up.”

“Really?” Quinn said, raising a brow, “You want another round?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome if you want. Though, I’d honestly be amazed if you could get it up now.”

Jasper flashed a grin. Set his plate down on the coffee table in front of them.

“Fuck you,” he repeated, focusing back on Quinn, “That’s not what I want now. No, now it’s time for your interrogation.”

“Oh, right, right. My interrogation,” Quinn said, putting his plate to the side as well. He shifted so he was fully facing Jasper. “I was really hoping we could skip that.”

“Ah, not a chance… What? Did you really think you fucked my brains out?”

“That had been the goal, yes. Guess I’ll need to try harder next time.”

And fuck, but the look Quinn gave him… Somehow, despite everything from their marathon afternoon, somehow it sent some more heat to his groin.

But Jasper shrugged it off.

No, none of that now. He inhaled and straightened himself up a bit from his nest of blankets. He needed to fucking _focus_.

“Well,” Jasper continued, “Who knows what you’ll have for time now. With all your new commitments to the _High Council_.”

Quinn’s expression shifted a bit. His smile becoming smaller, thoughtful. Though the brightness still glistened in his amber eyes.

“Mmm…. My new commitments,” Quinn said, “And what, Jasper Montesquieu, do you think those might be?”

“I don’t know, Quinn Sabian,” Jasper said, exhaling a little, “I guess it really depends on why you joined that Council in the first place.”

“Joined the Council?” Quinn said, “I didn’t realize it was like some little social club I decided to join.”

“But you decided, didn’t you?” Jasper pressed on, unperturbed, “You decided you wanted this. And you must have played and fought for it. So why? Why now?”

He leaned forward, closer to Quinn, ignoring his tiredness, his happily sore body and the rogue thoughts that he tempted him to just _leave_ this. Just let it go. Fall into a blissfully ignorant, fucked-out coma.

But no chance of that.

This was _his_ life.

And he was determined to push and learn he _everything_ possible about this radical change that could affect him and those he loved. A change that could also … _benefit_ him. Greatly.

Quinn was right, of course. The High Council of Crimimiss was hardly some social organization you decided to join on whim. It was the core of the real, substantial politics of Crimimiss. The decisions made in that group affected every aspect of Mytarri life.

It was power.

Immense, pervasive power.

And it now belonged to _Quinn_. 

The possibilities were almost too much. He forced the crazy thoughts away before he actually drowned in them.

But fuck it if he wasn’t going to push for this. Push to learn the motivation behind this tantalizing power play. 

Unfortunately, his sleepy contentedness wasn’t exactly helping his finesse in this…

Quinn stared at him. The playfulness in his eyes had receded, replaced by something sharper, harsher. His smiled curled upwards.

“Knacky boy,” he said, tone low and dark, “What do you think you know about this? Hmm? What right do you think you have to know about this?”

“Was this for Miguel?” Jasper pressed, refusing to be baited, “Was this to _play_ with Miguel?”

Quinn seemed to move closer. His hands reached for Jasper again, squeezing his knee, his thigh over the blanket.

“Well,” Quin said, drawing out the word, “It wasn’t _not_ to play with Miguel. But it certainly wasn’t fucking _for_ him.”

“So what then?” Jasper insisted, “Why? You said you liked for the Crimion government to be involved as little as possible in your business.”

“Yes…I did…” Quinn said, still stroking his legs, inching closer to him, “And that’s true. You might have gathered, Jasper, that I like my _privacy_.”

Jasper smiled slightly.

“It had occurred to me, yes.”

“Yes… but well, you know, sometimes you have to make a change. A change beyond what’s become familiar, _comfortable_. In order to get what you truly want. In order to get what you _need_. And I – Well, it would have been _untenable_ to continue how I had been. Impossible, really. No, it was time for a change.”

“Why?” Jasper insisted, determined to get something out substance from this, “What had become impossible?”

“Well… _This_ ,” Quinn said, looking around the subterranean room, “Living in the shadows. Living underground.”

Jasper didn’t follow. Quinn was speaking in metaphors, _riddles_. So fucking frustrating.

“But you don’t live underground,” Jasper said, trying not to let his irritation show, “Not really.”

“You might be surprised.” Quinn smiled. His white teeth flashed, his eyes burned. “Either way, it’s done now. New era, new beginning, all of that nonsense. Good nonsense though. _Very good_.”

“So what?” Jasper said, “So what now? Is this part of some grand reveal? You’re going to show the world everything you’ve been up to?”

And Quinn just _laughed_. A rich, amused, _honest_ sound.

“No,” he said, full smirk stretched over his peach lips, “No, fuck that, Tes.”

He paused. Exhaled a little.

And then, to Jasper’s shock, he elaborated without prompting.

“Over the years,” Quinn said, “I’ve spent a lot of energy _hiding_ certain things. Well, in the beginning it wasn’t that difficult. When you’re no one, with nothing, who’s going to fucking look? But, over time, things changed. The circumstances and situations changed. The _stakes_ changed. And it began to take more – a lot more – to keep things hidden. To keep things _safe_. To keep _mine_ safe. And… it wasn’t sustainable. It was never meant to be sustainable, to be fair. But until now, it hadn’t been worth the risk to make the change. To stop hiding. But now, it’s a necessity.”

Jasper looked back at Quinn. Stared into his brown eyes, those deep pools of amber.

Trying to understand the implications of this.

Trying to understand what Quinn was _telling_ him.

“What changed?” Jasper asked, at last, his own voice so soft, so _cautious_ , “What’s different now?”

Quinn just gave him another smile.

The kind of smile that tightened Jasper’s chest and made it hard to breath.

And he felt _it_ too. That pulse again. That steady, beeping hum in his veins, his _hands_. The amma.

Quinn looked down suddenly. Gently grabbed the tips of his fingers, brought one of Jasper’s hands up.

“These are pretty today,” Quinn said, “I like this color.”

Jasper’s face flushed.

He’d painted his nails Friday night, after the General Assembly had finished. It was a simple job – just one color. A deep hunter green. It wasn’t a color Jasper could ever remember wearing as just a solid shade… But he’d seen it in his collection the other day. And it had reminded him of the waxed jacket that Quinn sometimes wore.

But fuck this. Quinn was trying to _distract_ him.

He needed to change tactics.

He pulled his hand away. Met Quinn’s eyes again.

“How did you do it?” Jasper asked, steadily matching Quinn’s gaze, “How did you get the appointment to the Council?”

And Quinn smiled. But the edge was back.

And before he could react, the metiah _moved_.

He grabbed Jasper’s legs and lifted them up. Slide himself underneath, into the warmth of Jasper’s space, under the blanket. And he lifted Jasper – _easily_ – into his lap. Arms wrapped around him tight and firm and anchoring.

Despite the recent shower, Quinn still smelled like Quinn. Earthy, masculine and this subtle tang of _oil_. 

One of his clever hands had snaked under Jasper’s shirt. Skimming over his bare skin. Ghosting over a nipple.

Jasper couldn’t help but squirm on Quinn’s lap, shying away from the touch.

It was too much. He’d drunk more than his share of pleasure before, and he couldn’t take anything else.

“Quinn,” he hissed, grabbing the man’s roving wrist, stopping him, “Cut it out. Just – tell me. I want – I want…”

“What? What do you want, Tes?” Quinn asked, “You want to know _how_? No, babe… You already know I’m not going to tell you that. So what is it then? What do you want to hear? That this is _safe_? That you can _trust_ me?”

Quinn’s tone was soft – teasing, _enticing_. But he’d stopped toying with his nipples, his hand now resting on his hip, massaging the bone there.

Jasper pulled his neck back, so that he could look up into Quinn’s eyes. The bright, deep amber pools.

Jasper forced himself to breathe.

Swallowed. Managed to form the syllables.

“Can I?” he asked, at last, “Can I trust you?”

And Quinn, of course, didn’t say anything.

He just looked at Jasper, intense and consuming. Piercing through his skin, his muscle, his bones, to whatever lay underneath.

And then he leaned over and kissed him. A warm, comforting pressure. Their lips slotted together, tongues lazily brushing against each other.

And Jasper finally gave in.

Gave in to the sensation of it all.

He allowed himself to relax. To sink back into his sleepy, sated satisfaction, and just _feel_.

\------------------------------------------------------------

The week slid on.

A few days passed.

With the General Assembly finished, the news coverage had shifted. No more discussion of Quinn Sabian and his appointment to the High Council on the evening television reporting and the daily Travvali commentary. No, the public national conversation had reverted back to the status of the Awareness. Back to the progress, or lack thereof, with the integration between the Mytarri and Mortagaia worlds.

And despite Jasper’s earlier paranoias, there was no more discussion of a possible connection between Miguel de los Santos and Quinn Sabian. No discussion of _him_.

For now, at least.

Jasper could only guess what would happen by the time the next High Council session rolled around. But that wasn’t for another few months.

Plenty of time until then.

So, for now, Jasper was focused firmly on the _present_.

And the present was _good_.

For the past few days, Quinn and he had spent most nights together.

It was the same that evening. Quinn had picked him up from CIT just a short while ago.

They were now back on Quinn’s sofa, and had been talking about social media. Well, specifically, Jasper’s social media account, because Quinn, of course, said he rarely used it. And somehow, Quinn had ended up scrolling through Jasper’s account, and had somehow, immediately, found the one photograph, that Jasper was absolutely _mortified_ by.

“Oh my gods,” Quinn said, “Who is this cool kid?”

“Quinn, give me the phone.”

“Just wait a second – I definitely need to this send to myself.”

“Quinn!”

Jasper made a swipe back for his phone, but Quinn blocked him, just grinning, _grinning_.

He held up the screen again, pointing to another part of the image.

“And is this actually a _denim shirt_? With the denim jacket?”

“You know what, _yes_. Yes, it was. And I’ll have you know, I was extremely popular in middle school.”

“Oh, for sure,” Quinn said, smiling so wide, the _bastard_ , “Who wouldn’t want to hang out with this guy?”

Jasper just scowled.

Fuck – he thought Lydia had finally removed this _horrible_ photo that she’d posted some time ago as a joke. It was of Jasper at thirteen, an absolute awkward mess of a pubescent boy. He was grinning at the camera, his braces-covered teeth on full display, hair in some wild, scraggy mop that he remembered thinking was so _cool_ , sporting clothes that he would probably burn at first sight now.

Quinn kept beaming at him.

“It’s not so bad,” he said, “Look, you have this super awesome calculator with your books too. Now that’s really neat.”

But then image on the screen changed.

Someone was calling Jasper.

Quinn looked at the phone, his grin slipping away.

“Oh,” he said, in some thoughtful tone, “It’s Fitch Delford.”

“Let me see that,” Jasper said, hurriedly.

And, to his partial surprise, Quinn let him take the phone back without an issue. All the same, Jasper could sense _something_ emanating from Quinn. The good humor had faded off his expression. He looked at Jasper with intent, focused eyes.

“I didn’t think that you and he were talking now,” the metiah said, voice soft.

“We hadn’t been. But recently … I should – I should take this.”

And not wanting to give Quinn any opportunity to object, he got off the sofa, and walked into the spare bedroom. Shut the door behind him.

“Hey, Fitch.” Jasper answered the phone, pacing around the cluttered space, “Everything alright?”

He hadn’t heard from Fitch since last Friday, when the General Assembly had concluded. Though, that hadn’t surprised him, all things considered…

“Yeah, Jay, everything is fine. Sorry, is this a good time?”

Jasper kept eyeing the closed door to the room. Some conflicted emotions in him. Almost _guilty_ that he had rushed off from Quinn without any explanation, but at the same time, _infuriated_ at the idea that Quinn would be – what? Angry? Upset? Upset that he was talking to his best friend? Well, what fucking right did he have – though, of course, Quinn hadn’t actually _said_ anything…

“No, Fitch,” Jasper said, “Now is good. How are you? How has everything been?”

“Things…” Fitch’s voice sounded strained, _hesitant_. Almost apologetic. “Things…Well, things are good. Good now. Miguel and I…After the Assembly…We’ve _talked_. About everything. About everything with you…and him. ”

“Of course,” Jasper heard himself say. He sat down on the bed, rubbed his eyes with his hand. “So how are you feeling about everything?”

“I’m…Well, I was very upset, you know. So pissed off. And I still don’t agree with how … how he _acted_ with you that time.”

“Sure,” Jasper said, carefully, “And now?”

“Well…I think…I think things are going to be _better_ now. A lot better. With all of us.”

“Okay. That’s… that’s good, I guess,” Jasper said. Though he honestly didn’t know what that was supposed to mean in the current circumstances. But that wasn’t the point. He didn’t expect, or want, Fitch to try to resolve any of the _issues_ between Miguel and himself. No, that wouldn’t be right. No, what he was _interested_ in…

“And you and Miguel?” Jasper asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible, “How is everything?”

“Oh…well. I mean – ” He suddenly sounded _defensive_. “ – We _talked_. A lot. Miguel…apologized. Explained himself. It’s…it’s, well I think it’s okay now. I feel better. Things are…good.” 

Of course, they were.

Of course, Fitch and Miguel had talked.

Of course, what Fitch meant was, they’d made up. And he’d _forgiven_ Miguel.

_Like he always did._

But Jasper never expected anything else.

Things _should_ be good between Fitch and Miguel. Things should be more than _good_. Fitch belonged to Miguel. Miguel had claimed him, treated him like suqua. And Fitch deserved every good, beautiful, glorious thing that came with that.

It was just…

It was _different_ now.

Before, Jasper and Fitch had been completely on the same page. On the same _side_.

Now though, when Jasper wanted nothing to do with Miguel…

Well, what could he expect? What could he have wanted? Again, he didn’t need or want Fitch to fight any battle on his behalf with Miguel.

So if Fitch had resolved things with Miguel… If Fitch was happy now… well then, Jasper should, of course, be happy _for_ him.

Anything else…

Anything else wasn’t fair.

Anything else wasn’t _possible_.

Fitch wasn’t his. Fitch was _Miguel’s._

And even though Jasper no longer wanted to belong to Miguel in any way… he still needed to accept and respect Fitch’s priorities. Fitch’s commitments. And he _should_. Of course, he should, and he fundamentally _did_. 

Submission to another like that was _sacrosanct_. That was a core component of Jasper’s personal beliefs and identity. It was a core component of their whole culture, their society… their _world_. It didn’t matter that Fitch wasn’t Mytarri. His relationship with Miguel deserved the same type of respect as if it was between two Mytarri people.

So just because Jasper didn’t want to submit to Miguel anymore… Well, he had no _right_ to expect anything else from his friend. 

Jasper suppressed a sigh. Pushed away the crazy thoughts.

Despite it all, he could tell that Fitch was feeling badly. Was looking for reassurance from Jasper that he _understood_. And so, Jasper needed to support Fitch now.

“I’m glad you worked it out,” Jasper said, trying to not let his whirlwind of emotions strain his voice, “I’m glad you feel better, Fitch. Really, I am. I hope – I never meant to cause you any _trouble_ , when I told you that.”

“I know, Jay,” Fitch said, the relief evident in his voice, “I know.”

“So…what’s going on now? When are you going back to New York?”

“Ah, tonight actually. Miguel’s flying out with me. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you this week. It’s been kind of crazy – ”

“No, it’s fine. I totally understand. When are you going to come home next?”

“Probably not for another few months… Maybe in April? I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to let you know. ”

“Alright. Alright, that sounds good. Well, hope you have a good trip.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you after I get settled back over there.”

And so they said their goodbyes. And hung up.

But Jasper remained seated on the bed for a few moments.

It was suddenly very quiet in this room.

Very quiet in this strange, isolated subterranean world.

He eyed the shut door.

Uncertain what type of scene would await him outside.

But well… he couldn’t hide in here forever.

He took a deep breath. Walked back out into the living space of the apartment.

Quinn remained where Jasper had left him. Seated on sofa. He turned when he heard Jasper come back into the room. Tracked him with his eyes.

Jasper joined him back on the sofa.

It was _difficult_ to meet Quinn’s gaze. His expression was… _intense_. Piercing.

He forced himself to breath. To swallow.

He turned to face Quinn, managing a small smile.

And deciding offense was always better than defense asked, “Do we have a problem?”

Quinn didn’t answer right away.

He broke his gaze. Picked up his mug of tea from the table. Took a sip.

“No,” he said at last, “No, I don’t think we do.”

He looked back at Jasper. Gave a small smile of his own. It wasn’t _unkind._

“When did you and Fitch start talking again?” Quinn continued, “I thought you hadn’t spoken since you went to Miguel’s estate that day.”

Quinn was speaking calmly. A very _measured_ tone. But Jasper could the whites of his knuckles as he gripped his ceramic mug. 

“Yes,” Jasper said, “We hadn’t spoken since then. But, during the Assembly, he reached out to me. We met up…We talked through things.”

Quinn rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. Shook his head.

“Of course,” he murmured, not looking at Jasper, “Of course during the circus. That conniving motherfucker.”

“What?”

Quinn looked back at Jasper.

“And you weren’t going to tell me this?” Quinn said, ignoring his question, “You didn’t think this was something I _should_ know?”

“I wasn’t hiding it from you,” Jasper said, trying to keep his breath steady, “It’s just – this was between Fitch and I. We needed… to clear up some things between us.”

“And did you?” Quinn said, small smile still pressed into his lips, “Did you clear _things_ up?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

Quinn took another long sip of tea. His eyes drifted off of Jasper. He seemed in deep in thought.

Jasper inhaled again. Took advantage of the silence.

Forced himself to speak to what he _feared_.

“I love Fitch,” he said, drawing Quinn’s gaze back to him, “I’d missed him. _A lot_. I was really happy when he reached out to me. _Relieved_. I’m not – I’m not going to stop seeing him. Talking to him. I’m not.”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to,” Quinn said. And he let that sentence resonate for a moment.

Jasper searched the metiah’s eyes. Deep, warm amber pools. All he saw was _sincerity_.

Quinn was speaking _truth_.

“I know you love him,” Quinn continued, “I know he’s one of your best friends. But he belongs to Miguel de los Santos.. And Miguel could… Miguel’s dangerous to you now, Jasper. Extremely. You’re going to have be _careful_ with Fitch. For a while at least.”

“Fitch would never harm me,” Jasper countered, “Never. _Fitch_ is not dangerous to me. He can’t be. He would never play with me like that. He loves me as well.”

“Of course, he does,” Quinn said, “And I hope you’re right. I hope Fitch can’t be dangerous to you. But Miguel is. So, until things are _different_ , you need to be aware with Fitch. _Careful_.”

“And what does that mean?” Jasper said. He could feel himself flush, his tone lowered to a rougher, gruff octave. Bracing himself for a _fight_. If Quinn Sabian fucking thought that he was going to tell him how to _act_ with his friend, with his Fitch –

“I mean,” Quinn said, eyes narrowing on Jasper, “That I want you to _tell me_ if you’re going to see Fitch. And I don’t want you to go to Miguel’s estate. Ever. And – “ Quinn’s voice shifted into something _sharp_. His eyes burned, something _dark_ flashing in his pupils. “—If Fitch ever tries to bring Miguel around you, I want you to leave. _Immediately_. I don’t want you anywhere near Miguel. I don’t want you talking to him. I don’t you want to even fucking look at him. You’re never –”

Quinn took a pause. Exhaled. He seemed to force himself to shrug, wringing the tension off his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes, his brow, and when looked he looked back at Jasper that primal severity was gone. A tornado that twisted off into thin air.

“Just leave Miguel to me,” he said, softer, “And if he tries to contact you at all, in any way, you need to tell me. Just promise me, Jasper. Promise me you’ll do this. All of this.”

Jasper stared at Quinn for a few moments.

The emotions clashed. His intense, determined, prideful nature insisted that he reject Quinn’s demands. He wasn’t some helpless, weak idiot. He could protect himself. Judge for himself what was safe and what wasn’t. Of course, he wasn’t going to traipsing off to the De Los Santos estate now…

But on the other hand…

Well, this wasn’t really about Jasper’s judgement at all, was it?

Quinn met Jasper’s gaze steadily. His eyes seemed to pierce into his skull, staring down his roving thoughts. But the faintest trace of a smile had crept on his lips.

Yes, wasn’t Quinn _clever_ …

Asking him for submission in something he knew that Jasper already _agreed_ with. Had partially already agreed to before, in a less _defined_ way. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Making clear boundaries. Clear _expectations._

And despite himself, he felt his amma stir. That steady pulse, that hum, rising to the surface of his awareness.

“Alright,” he heard himself say, “I promise.”

“All of it?” Quinn asked.

“All of it,” Jasper answered.

And then Quinn really did _smile_. Small, sincere expression that seemed to short-circuit some synapses in his brain.

The metiah leaned back against the sofa. Lounging back like some medieval ruler surveying his kingdom. He fixed a heated gaze on Jasper.

“Come here,” he said.

And Jasper did.

\----------------------------------------------------

Time flew by.

The next couple of weeks passed by in a haze. A _happy_ haze.

Jasper had somehow settled into a routine.

He spent most of his days at CIT. Studying, coding…

His second round submission of the Vendetti fellowship had been accepted. Of course it had. Jasper had _worked_ for that. Pouring hours of programming and research into his application. Now, he was preparing for the interview phase. Another multi-round process which would begin next month.

Busy, busy, busy…

So after the days at university, he would sometimes go back home, to his parents’ house. Spend time with his family. Hang out with Marty and Lydia.

But that was only sometimes… _occasionally_. 

No, for the majority of these weeks, Jasper would spend the evenings with _Quinn_.

The metiah would pick him up from the CIT campus, usually letting himself into Carson’s office where Jasper spent most of the afternoons and evenings surrounded by screens. 

But Quinn would coax him away from the computers. Take him back to the scrapyard. To the cozy underground apartment that was becoming more familiar and comfortable with each day.

Things were … _good_.

Quinn’s reticence about them sharing a bed had seemingly vanished.

And now Jasper found he was having an issue getting _out_ of that bed.

As had been the case that morning.

They’d gotten carried away. Quinn had spent far too long teasing and toying and sucking his cock. Making Jasper lose all sense of time – it was all his fault, honestly. 

And now Jasper was almost late for class.

Quinn had driven him back to the CIT campus, deftly navigating through the morning commute traffic. To the metiah’s credit, he was never bothered about playing chauffeur for Jasper, driving him around wherever he needed to go. Jasper certainly wasn’t complaining about that. 

And eventually they pulled up at their usual spot. A private drive on an obscure corner of campus that was always deserted.

Jasper unclicked off his seatbelt, gathered up his bag.

“Thanks,” he said, “I’ll see you –”

“Wait, Tes,” Quinn said, grabbing his jacket sleeve, “Before you go…I wanted to ask you about something.”

Alright. Well, that had his attention.

Jasper shifted in his seat. Turned back to look at Quinn.

There was some smile on his lips. Thoughtful but also _excited_. His amber eyes _sparkled_ with anticipation.

“What?” Jasper said, immediately curious. This definitely seemed like _something_.

Quinn just kept smiling.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow night?”

Plans? Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow was Friday. He’d vaguely thought about going out with Marty and Lydia but would hardly constitute that as a _plan_.

“No,” Jasper said, inching closer, “Not really. Why? Did you want to do something?”

Quinn nodded.

“I thought,” he said, smiling, “that we could have dinner. With _Carol_. My suqua. My veikala.”

Everything was suddenly too hot and crowded inside this truck.

Jasper felt like he’d been flipped upside down, some whiplash of vertigo consuming him.

Oh gods.

Oh gods.

Oh _gods_.

He realized he was just blinking at Quinn.

The metiah smiled wider.

“So…yes?” Quinn prompted.

“Yes,” Jasper managed, his voice way too loud and warbled. But he couldn’t focus on that.

A thousand thoughts rolled through his mind.

Quinn wanted Jasper to meet _his suqua_.

And not just any one of his suqua, his _veikala_ \- his _first claimed_. The one essentially second in command within suqua, after, of course, Quinn. 

The metiah leaned over. Kissed him firmly on the lips.

“Perfect, Tes. So perfect.”

And all Jasper could think was – this was happening.

Everything was happening _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... a lot going on in this one. A gratuitous amount of smut and fluff and an absurd amount of orgasms and somehow a chapter almost entirely focused on Jasper & Quinn without too many other sub-plots :)
> 
> Next chapter - Jasper gets actual insight into Quinn's world 💙
> 
> I'm not sure if I will post Chapter 15 of this next, or another chapter in Bridging the Gap....Decisions, decisions...
> 
> Anyways, I just realized this story is now over 100K words. No idea how that happened! But I'd like to emphasize that is a draft, and will definitely be revised/re-worked later on. I'd say there's probably about a third of the story left now... give or take. And there will definitely be a lot of outstanding questions when this is all said & done... Some questions/ loose ends will be then wrapped up in Bridging the Gap. And some maybe not til... unclear at this point. But I'm planning to get there eventually! 
> 
> In the meantime, thank you all immensely for reading and for the support. Feedback is truly loved and appreciated.


	15. Doing The Unstuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021 everyone! Sorry this took so long. A new years resolution of mine is to write more regularly :)

“It's a perfect day for kiss and swell  
For rip-zipping button-popping kiss and well...  
There's loads of other stuff can make you yell –  
Let's get happy!

It's a perfect day for doing the unstuck.  
For dancing like you can't hear the beat  
and you don't give a further thought  
to things like feet.  
Let's get happy!

But it's much too late, you say,  
for doing this now.  
We should have done it then.  
Well, it just goes to show  
how wrong you can be  
and how you really should know  
that it's never too late  
to get up and go.

\- The Cure, "Doing the Unstuck"

_Jasper_

“You sure you don’t want help with anything?” Jasper asked again, inching closer to the stove.

Quinn turned towards him, still absently stirring a pot. He smiled, warm, _kind_ , and shook his head.

“Nah, babe. I’m all good.” He paused for a moment. Nodded towards a far cabinet. “Actually, would you grab a few bottles of the sparkling water? And put them in the fridge? Carol likes that.”

Jasper nodded, trying to keep his breathing even at the mention of Carol’s name. He went over to the cupboard and pulled out the bottles.

He really had no idea why he felt this… what? Excited? _Anxious?_

For fuck’s sake, he had met suqua before. He _knew_ suqua – Miguel’s suqua at least. And many of his classmates at Crimion Prep had been children of suqua, children of metiah even…

But that was besides the point, wasn’t it?

Because he wasn’t meeting some random acquaintance tonight. No, tonight he was meeting someone who belonged to _Quinn_. Quinn, who up until this point, had barely mentioned anything substantial about his life, let alone anything about anyone he _owned_.

This meeting – it showed a real _trust_ on Quinn’s part. He was introducing Jasper to his world, his life…

But that wasn’t all…

No, of course, this went _both ways_. While, yes, Quinn was introducing Jasper to his world… he was also introducing his world to _Jasper_.

Oh, fuck.

He forced himself to take a breath. Tried to push the nerves away.

This would be fine. This would be _good_.

Exhaling, Jasper put the water in the fridge. Turned back to look at Quinn, busy again over the stovetop.

The metiah had dressed much nicer than his usual tattered array of clothing. No ripped, ratty sweatshirts. No frayed jeans stained with oil or whatever other daily grime. Instead, he wore some fresh, dark trousers. A fitted woolen sweater. His blonde had been tamed into a tight, slick topknot.

The apartment seemed… _cleaner_ too. Less cluttered, with fewer miscellaneous bits and bobs strewn around the place. It looked like Quinn had even packed up some of the numerous books and notepads laying around, organizing things.

Admittedly, when Quinn had told him about this dinner yesterday, Jasper had hoped that maybe this would take place… _elsewhere_. Maybe…maybe in that elusive, undiscussed, unmentioned place where Quinn and his suqua must actually _live_ …

But apparently that wasn’t on tonight’s agenda.

All the same, it was… _nice_ to be here, in the subterranean dwelling. After spending so much time in this place, Jasper couldn’t help but feel _comfortable_ here. Familiar. _Safe_.

Of course, as soon as that thought crossed his mind –

Green.

Green.

_Green_.

The lighting in the apartment suddenly flashed some emerald color. A soft, clear chime went off.

“What the fuck?” Jasper said, moving back towards Quinn. “What is this?”

Quinn grinned in the green light, illuminated like some folklore creature.

“It’s just the security system,” Quinn said, eyes sparkling, “It goes off whenever someone comes down here. Well... anyone besides me.”

Such intense security… and interesting that Jasper had never seen this before, after all these months. But he realized, in all that time, no else had actually ever come down to this underground lair…

He also realized that he’d never come down here without Quinn… he’d always been escorted by the metiah…

“So,” Jasper said, walking closer to Quinn, “Green is good?”

As he said that, the lights switched back to their normal setting. The chime had been silenced.

“Yes,” Quinn said, still smiling, “Green means they have permission. It’s just a precaution really. The scans to get inside here won’t work unless someone is programmed into the system.”

“Oh,” Jasper said, returning Quinn’s smile slightly. He pressed himself against the side of counter, a few inches from metiah. “So who has permission?”

Quinn shrugged, motions all languid and easy.

“Just my suqua…and Kevin. Though Kev never really comes down here.”

And before Jasper could pry more, he heard the telltale click of security lock at the apartment entrance.

The door slid open.

“Hello!” A bright, clear voice called out.

And a woman stepped into the room, the door closing behind her.

For a moment, Jasper was frozen. Overwhelmed by this new presence.

But her eyes – iridescent and gleaming – suddenly locked onto Jasper’s. Her lips parted into full, beaming smile. And then she moved. Rounding the kitchen island and coming over to him.

“Jasper Montesquieu,” she said, tone rich, vibrant, _happy_ , “I’m Carol Lau. Oh, it’s so… it’s so good to meet you.”

She leaned up towards him. Jasper snapped out of his daze to return the customary kisses on the cheeks.

“Carol Lau,” Jasper managed, “It’s… good….Good to meet you too.”

Silence for a couple moments. Jasper couldn’t help his staring, automatically assessing her, _studying_ her.

Carol Lau was gorgeous. That old, blurry photograph he’d found hadn’t done any justice to how pretty she was in person. 

Not surprising, of course. Most, if not all, suqua were.

She was petite, svelte. Her features well-formed and symmetric, of clear Asiatic origin. Her hair was long, sleek and black, falling like water over her shoulders.

Her eyes met his easily. Deep brown orbs, searching and _intelligent_ , alight with excitement and anticipation. She smiled, a sincere, generous expression. 

Some motion to his side.

Jasper blinked and realized Quinn was still standing right next to them, watching them intently.

Carol broke Jasper’s gaze. Turned and faced Quinn. Her went grin wide.

“And who might you be?” she asked.

Quinn laughed a little. He bent down and kissed her firmly on the mouth. A warm, deep, familiar gesture that lingered between two.

Despite himself, Jasper felt his face flush watching them. Immediately attracted but also… _(jealous)_. He shoved the other emotion away. It was ridiculous, and he had _no right_ …

Quinn pulled back from her, all smiles.

“I’m just the catering,” he said, “Your dinner should be ready soon.”

He turned back towards the stove and resumed stirring a pot.

Carol followed him. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, peering over his arm at the food. She was considerably shorter than Quinn, well over a foot of height difference, probably a foot and a half. Though she looked small besides him, her movements were all natural, reflexive… confident.

“What’s this?” she said, craning her neck to look at the stovetop, “One – Two – Three pots? Wow, it’s practically a feast. And look at this. Is this Reni’s marinara sauce?”

Her hand went towards a pot, but Quinn batted it away.

“Get out,” he laughed, “You can try it when it’s done. And yes, it’s Reni’s recipe.”

“An ambitious move, Q,” Carol said, “Very ambitious. You want any help?”

“Oh, leave me alone.”

“Hmm.”

Carol squeezed around his middle again, and backed away from the metiah. She turned to Jasper and winked.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m sure there’s some pizza in the freezer if we need it.”

“Fuck off,” Quinn said, looking over, smiling, “It’s going to be good. Probably not as good as Reni’s, but still.”

Carol made a considering noise.

“Well, it should be better than instant ramen.” 

She looked back at Jasper with a grin.

“You’re lucky,” she continued, “That used to be all that Quinn knew how to make.”

“And toast. I could make some great toast.”

“Oh, of course. Toast. Microwavable dinners. Maybe a sandwich. You were a culinary genius. Thank gods you decided that you liked to cook.”

Carol was walking away from the kitchen. She put down her shoulder bag, slipped out of her winter boots and hung up her heavy coat on the rack by the door. Underneath she wore a cashmere turtleneck, soft-looking black jeans. The clothes looked polished, well-made, _tailored_ …

She scanned the room, this open living space of the apartment.

“The place looks really nice,” Carol said, turning back towards the kitchen, “Nicer than I remember from last time. Did you do anything to it?”

“He cleaned,” Jasper couldn’t help blurting out.

And both Quinn and Carol laughed. Happy, genuine sound. Quinn looked over at Jasper with sparkling, bright eyes.

“Excuse me, I _clean_ ,” the metiah said, “Sometimes, anyways. Now, will you both get out of here. I’m actually trying to _not_ burn this.”

“Fine, fine,” Carol said. She walked back over to Jasper, grabbed the sleeve of his sweater, “Come on, Jasper Montesquieu, let’s leave the chef to his work.”

Jasper let her guide him away from the kitchen, over to the lounge area. She settled on an armchair, and Jasper took a seat on sofa beside her. Behind them, Quinn rattled away with the cooking. The noise faded into the background as Carol set her deep eyes on him.

She was perched casually in the chair, her legs curled up, cozy and comfortable in the space. But despite her relaxed posture, Jasper felt the weight of her gaze on him. She looked him over thoroughly, her eyes tracing every inch of his body. More heat pooled in his face, his heartrate increasing the longer she studied him in silence.

He took a breath. Tried to organize his thoughts.

This… this was _important_. This was an _opportunity_. He wasn’t just going to sit here, gaping like an idiot…

“Did you have a long drive over here?” Jasper finally said, keeping his tone light, steady.

Carol smiled.

“Not so long,” she said, “I came over from _Lethusken_. Took just a little over an hour.”

“Lethusken?” Jasper said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager, “Is that where you live?”

Carol’s smile just deepened. Her eyes pressed into Jasper, so intelligent, _knowing_.

“Yes,” she said, her lips curling up, “We have our estate there.”

Well… fuck.

So Quinn hadn’t been lying when he’d given Jasper that Lethusken address months ago. That was… good. _Very good_.

Lethusken was an affluent outer district of Crimimiss. Jasper had been there a few times, once on a school trip, and a handful of visits with Fitch. It was out in the countryside, nestled between farmland and swaths of forest. The district was centered around the charming old Lethusken town, a medieval village now home to a range of artisan shops, galleries and a well-known farmers market.

It was a _nice_ area. Certainly not the ritziest post code in Crimimiss, but definitely upper middle class.

If Quinn had an estate there, it had probably cost a _substantial_ amount.

Of course, Jasper really didn’t know what Carol meant by _estate_. Estate could just refer to a property where metiah and their suqua lived together communally.

All estates certainly weren’t the _same_. And all estates certainly weren’t like the De Los Santos estate – that mammoth historic compound sprawled like a castle on the slopes of the Eastern mountains.

For all Jasper knew, Quinn’s _estate_ could be shack made of sheet metal. On expensive land maybe, but still it could just be a shack…

Not that Jasper _cared_ one way or another.

He was just _happy_ to learn that Quinn hadn’t been trying to play him with that Lethusken address…

And he was also happy to learn that Carol didn’t seem to be nearly as tight-lipped about her life as Quinn…

Though, how open she really was… Well, that remained to be seen.

“That sounds nice,” Jasper finally said, “I really like Lethusken. Is that…is that where you’re from?”

And Carol laughed. Another peal of happy, genuine noise.

“Fuck no,” she said, covering the extent of her smile with her hand, “I’m from Phoyelgun. Same as Quinn.”

Jasper felt his heartrate quicken again. He forced himself to exhale, trying to word his next question _carefully_.

“Is that how… How long have you two long known each other? How did you meet?”

Carol kept smiling, her gaze still locked on Jasper. He could almost see the thoughts spinning behind her eyes, as she decided what to say.

“I’ve known Quinn since we were fourteen years old,” she told him at last, “We used to live in the same apartment building. We went to high school together. We were always… _close_.”

She paused. She shifted in her chair, seeming to lean closer to Jasper.

“But I think that’s a story for another time,” she said, eyes whirling with memories, but expression still _kind_ , “Now, what about you, Jasper Montesquieu?”

Alright, so much for this round. But fair was fair.

“What about me?” He repeated, smiling back at her. More than game for wherever this went.

“How did you meet Quinn?”

Hmm… Not what he had been expecting. And surely Quinn had already _told_ her…

“Well… I gave a presentation at uni. At CIT. And Quinn came. And we talked afterwards.”

“I see,” Carol said, lips curling back up, “CIT, huh? What are you studying there?”

“Ah, software engineering.”

“Well, what a coincidence,” Carol said, absolutely beaming, “So did I.”

_What?_

Jasper blinked. His mind raced with the implications of this.

“Really?” He eventually managed, trying not to stutter, “You went to CIT?”

“Uh huh,” Carol nodded, “I mean, this was over forty years ago. Practically back in the stone age. Programming was so different then, and has changed so much since. My degree was in Computer Science technically.”

“Oh… well…” Jasper said, trying to control his face, and say something _sensible_ , “I didn’t…I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Carol said. There was nothing patronizing in her tone. Just a calm statement of fact. Though her eyes sparked with keen awareness. “Just like you didn’t know that everyone in our suqua has gone to CIT.”

“Sorry – what?”

Shock. Genuine shock flooded Jasper’s nerves. He’d known – _presumed_ – that Quinn was _interested_ in software and programming, from his questions about Jasper’s work. But he hadn’t … he hadn’t expected the _extent_ of it.

Quinn’s _whole suqua_ had gone to CIT?

What…what did this mean? What was Carol telling him?

He looked over at her and she just smiled back. Expression still warm, but there was an edge now. A bit of a smirk. Yes, she was clearly _having fun_.

“We all went to CIT,” she said again, “Even Quinn took a programming course once. For half a second at least.”

Fucking hell.

And Quinn had never said a fucking word about this…

But he pushed aside his anger, his indignation. He couldn’t let himself get distracted like that now. He needed to stay focused. To get everything out of this that he could.

“Are you all engineers?” he asked, “You and all your suqua?”

Carol just raised an eyebrow.

Jasper realized he might have pushed too far.

But after a pause, Carol answered. 

“I guess it depends,” she said, shrugging.

Jasper couldn’t help himself.

“Depends on what?”

Carol laughed a little. The sound light and amused.

“Well, on that one,” she said, nodding over towards the kitchen where Quinn was cooking.

Oh… of course…

But before Jasper could think of something else to say, Carol continued.

“So, what do you think of Lyle Venter?” she asked, leaning back a little in her chair, “Do you two get along?”

What? Jasper found himself blinking again. Confused by the sudden mention of the CIT president.

“Well…” he started, tentatively, “I mean… I don’t know him. I don’t really know him at all. I’ve just spoken with him once.”

Just that one recent time he had helpfully told Jasper that he was no longer enrolled at the university…

Carol smiled wider.

“That’s a shame,” she said, “I think you two would get on very well.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

But more importantly –

“Do you know Lyle Venter?” Jasper asked, “Was he… was he president at CIT while you were there?”

“No, he wasn’t then,” Carol said, “He was just a very bright, very _knacky_ assistant professor when I was at school. We actually had a bit of _fling_ for a while. A lot of _fun_.”

She wasn’t looking at Jasper anymore. Her eyes had drifted over his head. He realized Quinn had walked behind the sofa, his tall form leaning over Jasper.

“I’m sure Jasper doesn’t want to hear about your uni misadventures,” Quinn said, tone pointed.

Carol’s smile tilted.

“You sure about that, Q?” she said. 

Jasper turned, trying to get a look at Quinn. His lips were pressed into a small smile.

“Very sure,” the metiah said, “Now, enough. Dinner’s ready.”

* * *

Dinner was delicious actually. Quinn had made homemade meatballs with angel hair pasta. The sauce was particularly exceptional.

It was the kind of meal Jasper would typically enjoy with a bottle of Italian wine. But he had realized pretty early on that Quinn didn’t drink alcohol. And neither it seemed did Carol.

So they enjoyed the tasty food with sparkling water, lounging around the rarely used dining table.

The conversation throughout the meal stayed casual, but still _fascinating_. 

Besides the revelation that he and Carol both had studied at CIT, and were both, apparently, software engineers (the implications of which Jasper couldn’t even begin to process), it seemed that he and Quinn’s veikala had a lot in common. They were both from large families, both loved science fiction novels, both strongly opposed to most physical exercise, except running and hiking. And they both seemed to have similar senses of humor…

He found himself almost spitting out his water, choking with laughter from this wild story about how Carol had accidentally ended up in a restricted area of the National Crimion Art Gallery, and been mistaken for a new employee who was a tour guide for primary school students.

Quinn chimed in here and there, but largely seemed content to just _listen_. He watched the pair of them with half-lidded eyes, and that small, sphinxlike smile.

Eventually, they migrated back to the lounge area. Carol settled back in the armchair, while Quinn and Jasper cozied up on the sofa.

They all had mugs of some _extravagant_ hot chocolate that Quinn had made for dessert.

Jasper took a long sip of the rich drink, lapping up the whipped cream, while Carol raved about the bakery where Quinn had bought the cocoa mix.

“It’s still just the two of them running the bakery. This older couple – they both must be like well into their 200s now. But still, every weekday, they’re almost completely sold out by 10am. Even though really only the locals and a couple restaurants know about it.”

“Well, this is delicious,” Jasper said, taking another sip, “So the shop is in Phoyelgun?”

“Yeah, right on the district border by Dustralin. Right near the old neighborhood.”

She looked over at Quinn, who was seated on the sofa closer to her.

Jasper watched them exchange a glance. Carol’s smile dimmed a little. Her eyes a bit distant.

“How long did you both live in Phoyelgun?” he heard himself asking.

Carol seemed to snap out a memory. She shook her head.

“Not that long.”

“Long enough,” Quinn said.

His eyes locked onto Carol’s. The silence stretched. They seemed to be speaking without words.

But eventually Quinn broke the gaze. He took a sip of his drink, before putting it on the table in front of them.

Then he turned towards Jasper. His amber eyes bright, intent.

“Carol and I lived in Phoyelgun until we were eighteen. Things got… _rough_ in the old neighborhood. We needed to leave. So we ended up coming out here.”

Quinn paused as Jasper processed what he was saying.

“Here?” he repeated, after a moment, gesturing around the room, “You both came _here_?”

Quinn nodded, looking up around the space.

“Yeah… Carol and I lived here for over ten years.”

Oh fuck…

“It was a lot _different_ then,” Carol said, drawing Jasper’s gaze back to her, “I mean, it was just Quinn and I. And sometimes Kevin…”

Jasper looked between the both of them. Two pairs of deep eyes pressing into him, as his mind spun with these implications.

At last, Jasper settled his gaze back on Quinn.

“You both _lived_ down in this apartment for over ten years?”

Quinn exhaled. Nodded. His eyes scanned over the room.

“Yes, we did,” he said, looking back at Jasper, “But the place…It wasn’t really like this then. In the beginning at least. There wasn’t a kitchen before. No bedrooms. It took… it took a lot of work.”

“It was fine,” Carol said, “Really. It was _good_. Gods, sometimes I even miss this place. ”

Quinn turned towards her. His eyes had clouded over with some strong emotion.

He reached over. Grabbed Carol’s wrist.

“Well, it was better than where we were before,” he said.

And gods, what did that imply? That living in a windowless, underground bunker had been better than their Phoyelgun situation?

But no time to try to unravel that.

Quinn had moved. Released his grip from Carol’s wrist. Stood up.

“You finished with this cocoa? I’m going to clean up.”

“I can – ”

“No,” Quinn said, “You two just stay here.”

And he picked up their mugs, carrying them back over to the kitchen.

Carol caught Jasper’s eyes and smiled. Shaking her head towards the metiah.

But Jasper’s gaze dropped back to her arm. To the one that Quinn had just held.

There was _something_ …

Something he noticed on her _wrist_.

Carol saw where his eyes had gone. Her smile deepened. The edge had crept back in.

“Come over here,” she said with a grin, gesturing Jasper closer.

Jasper complied like he was magnetized, sliding down the sofa towards her.

She put out her arm so Jasper could see clearly.

“Do you like this?” she asked.

Jasper could just nod. He examined her wrist, _fascinated_.

The sleeve of her sweater had been pushed up now, revealing her skin. Her _jewelry_.

Wrapped around her slender, well-formed joint was a… _bracelet_. A beautiful, rose gold band that encircled her arm, contoured perfectly over the skin.

“It’s part of a pair,” Carol said. She rolled up her other sleeve, and held out her opposite hand.

The bracelets were identical.

Striking.

_Beautiful._

Jasper’s eyes traced the finely crafted metalwork, examining the curves, the delicate design. The bands were tight, flush against her skin. They almost looked welded onto her.

Jasper realized he couldn’t see any seam, any mechanism to unlock them, or any way to take them off.

_Permanent…_

“Is that…” Jasper started, “Are they _anthalva_?”

“Yes,” Carol said, smile radiant, tone rich with _pride_ , “From that one.”

She nodded over towards the kitchen, towards Quinn.

His face flushed.

He felt his amma pulse. Some sharp hum that vibrated through him.

_Fuck_.

Anthalva from your metiah… That carried an _intense_ connotation. For suqua these were symbols of being _claimed_ – symbols of being _owned_.

The symbols themselves were always different. Tokens chosen by individuals to reflect their own relationships. Sometimes these were collars, tattoos, _jewelry_... Anthalva wasn’t about specific objects or markings. It was about the _intention_. An intention to show that you belonged to something or _someone_.

Most Mytarri had some form of anthalva on in their daily lives . But, of course, suqua especially. 

Miguel’s suqua usually wore some of his clothing as their own. Along with (as Fitch had confided to him once) a certain _scar_ that was hidden on their bodies.

Jasper had always found suqua anthalva so… _intriguing_.

And this anthalva from Quinn – these simple, elegant bands – it _captivated_ him.

He kept staring at the jewelry. The heat built in his face as arousal sparked in his groin.

Something…something seemed to _call_ to him with this. These bands like _bondage_.

“Do you want to touch them?” Carol asked. Her voice was so close, so lush. She leaned forward, perched on the edge of the armchair, her knees almost pressed against Jasper, “You can if you want. Just be careful – _slow_.”

The words should have triggered a warning, but Jasper was only half-listening.

He reached towards the band on her left arm, pulse rampant with some sharp attraction and covetous desire.

The tips of his fingers came in contact with the metal.

_Shock_.

Like static.

Like electricity. Except not.

It was warmer, softer – like someone had pinched him with velvet fingers. Strange and jarring. But also something _familiar_ and good.

His hand retreated into the air, back a couple inches from her arm.

He met Carol’s eyes, who was watching him closely, studying him. Her smile dazzled. 

“You alright, Jasper?” she coaxed.

“Is that…?” He trailed off. Unsure. But there was something in Carol’s gaze. She was playing, yes, but there was still that _warmth_ there.

Jasper took a breath. Gathered his nerves.

“Is that _amma_?” he finally asked, “In the bracelets? Is there amma in the metal?”

“Yes,” she grinned, seeming very pleased, very _happy_ that he understood, “Yes, it’s infused into the gold. It keeps the bands attached to the skin.”

Well fuck.

_Fuck_.

It wasn’t unusual for Mytarri to infuse amma into objects, clothing … jewelry. After death, after cremation, the majority of a Mytarri’s amma was collected and returned to the Travvali. However, if specified in a legal will, family could claim some of the deceased’s amma for their own use. 

Jasper’s mother had an antique ring from her late mother, embedded with her amma…

But that’s usually how it went. The amma that most Mytarri used for heirlooms and remedies and old superstitious charms and potions… that was all amma that had been extracted from the _deceased_. It was expired. Inactive. _Dead_. 

But the amma in Carol’s bracelets…

This amma was very much _alive_.

There was only one group of Mytarri who could use amma like that. Expand it, grow it… _control it_ …

“Is the amma…?” Jasper started.

“Yes,” a rich voice said to their side. “Yes, it’s _mine_.”

Jasper looked up.

Quinn had come back over to them. He perched himself on the arm of Carol’s chair, eyes lasered in on Carol’s offered wrist and Jasper’s hand hovering above it.

“Go on, Tes,” the metiah urged, his expression rapt, intense, “Touch it again. It won’t hurt you, just go _slow_.”

And trance-like, Jasper did.

He let the tips of his fingers ghost over the gold band.

Same sensation as before. Some current. Some energy. But it felt… _nice_. Good.

He let more of his fingers rest against the bracelet, and he realized it was _warm_. And growing warmer still.

The texture felt impossibly smooth under the pads of his fingers. Like skimming his hands through water.

It seemed to move. Like a tide.

And Jasper realized it was _spreading_. The warmth. It seeped into his skin, like a vibration, into _his hand,_ towards his brands. And his amma was… _pulling_ towards it. Synching to it. Matching it. Its vibration, its hum, its pulse. The two energies beating with the same frequency and rhythm.

The gold seemed _molten_ under his fingers now. Hot, boiling. But yet it didn’t _burn_ him.

Still he felt heat pooling in his face… in his cock. Stirring and twitching to life.

Oh fuck.

“Try to move it,” Quinn said, voice low, hypnotic, “Try to move the gold.”

Jasper ran his fingers along the smooth, curved edges of the bracelet. Trying to move it, to rotate the metal loop. It didn’t budge. It didn’t slide or give it all. It felt like it was a part of Carol’s arm, part of her skin.

“I can’t,” Jasper said, “It’s too tight.”

“Good,” Quinn said, voice brimming with possessive _pleasure_.

And he reached over, and pulled Carol’s hand away from Jasper.

His bare hand encircled her wrist, squeezed over the metal.

Jasper watched them, watched _Carol_. Her pupils dilated, her lips parted. Her arm taut in Quinn’s hold. Jasper thought he saw her shudder a bit, some tremor under her tight cashmere, as Quinn kept playing and toying, squeezing his hand over the gold circle.

“Q – “ She reached over, and grabbed her metiah’s thigh with her other hand, pressing hard. “Please – ”

Quinn bent down and kissed her. Hungry and consuming, his tongue diving into her with swift, engulfing force. Carol arched up into, flush against him.

Jasper watched as Quinn gave a sharp twist to the band on her wrist, his thumb rubbing, digging into the metal and the fine tendons in her arm.

Carol broke away from his mouth with a jagged gasp. And Quinn responded by grabbing her hair. Pulling her back towards him. He descended on her lips again, biting at the slick, plump skin.

Jasper remained frozen in his seat, inches from them.

His face felt molten, his jeans far too tight.

They were gorgeous. Beautiful together.

Carol relented in Quinn’s hold, pliant and yielding under his hands, his mouth.

Jasper’s breath hitched, his own hands gripping the side of the sofa.

He was impossibly turned on… and impossibly _jealous_.

Incoherent thoughts tumbled together. His fingers clutched at the cushion, thinking about reaching for Carol and slipping his hands under her skintight sweater… thinking about pushing her away and taking her place…

_Fuck_.

And his amma kept _pulsing_.

This incessant, steady tempo inside of him, that seemed to just build and build and build –

Quinn ripped off Carol, panting for breath. And his suqua took this as an opportunity to _move_.

She twisted her arm out of his grasp. Pushed herself up on her knees on the seat of the chair, and grabbed Quinn’s shoulders. She was still shorter than him at that angle, but she wrapped her arms around his neck. Pulled him down to her.

“What do you want, Quinn Sabian?” she said, resting her forehead against his. Her voice was rough and raw, strained from lack of oxygen and pleasure.

They just stared at each other for a few moments, millimeters apart.

But eventually, Quinn pulled back a bit. Smiled some. But it was slanted, his lips curled to one side.

“I want you to go to bed.”

He nodded off towards the spare room.

Carol laughed, a low, hoarse sound.

“So _harsh_ ,” she said, “I didn’t mean to stop. Can’t we just play a little more?”

Quinn shook his head. His amber eyes _gleamed_.

“Don’t even fucking try me. You’ve played more than enough.”

Carol exhaled.

But after a moment gave a small nod.

Quinn closed the space between them again. Kissed her lips, her face. Whispered something low and indecipherable into her ear.

Then he pulled out of her hold.

Carol stepped off the chair. She looked over at Jasper. He saw how dilated her eyes were, her face flushed, her lips swollen from fresh bites.

“Goodnight, Jasper Montesquieu,” she smiled. She leaned over, kissed both his cheeks. Spoke in a low, exaggerated whisper. “Go easy on him on, alright?”

“ _Carol_ ,” Quinn hissed.

“I’m _going_. He’s all yours, Q.” 

She moved away from them, walking back towards the kitchen.

Jasper didn’t have time to watch her more.

Quinn had shifted to Jasper.

His eyes were absolutely blown out – wild.

He grinned, the expression sharp, _primal_.

Jasper felt his amma still – this continuous thrum consuming his hands. His cock strained against the fly of his jeans, untouched and hard.

And before he could say a word, even think of a word to say –

Quinn surged on him. Mouth crashing into his.

Arms wrapped around him, strong and demanding.

He realized he was being lifted – _carried_.

Quinn had picked him up and was moving him.

Into his bedroom.

He barely had time to register the change of setting.

Jasper’s back hit the duvet on the mattress.

Quinn climbed on top of him, covering him.

His mouth devoured his lips, his neck. Sucking on him, biting at him.

It was relentless, frenzied.

And Quinn was pulling, tugging at his clothes. He struggled with his jeans, yanking on them, managing the zipper.

And then – _yes_ – sure, strong fingers finally wrapped around his cock, and Jasper couldn’t help but _shudder_.

* * *

He woke up in bleary haze.

His thoughts still half-dreams, fevered and disorientated.

But eventually he managed to push himself up.

_Oh fuck_.

Even sitting up against the pillows, he felt _sore_. Delicious remnants of pressure all over his body.

He looked around the room, trying to take stock of himself, as the memories from last night rushed back.

Quinn had been wild – _rough_.

He’d worked Jasper _hard_ , bringing to him to the edge, to the very cusp of release again and again and again –

Until Jasper had been _delirious_ with want. His only thoughts had been on his desperation, his _need_ …

And only then had Quinn finally, finally let him come down. 

And now…

He was naked in Quinn’s bed, wrapped in sheets and blankets that smelled strongly of the other man. But he was alone. The metiah _gone_.

He squinted over at the bedside clock. _6:30am_. Early for the weekend.

But he was up now…

And besides…

Quinn and he hadn’t _talked_ last night. Last night… after everything with _Carol_ …

Oh fuck. That beautiful suqua with the easy laugh and knowing eyes. Had she left? Was she still here?

He stumbled into the bathroom.

And fucking hell.

His mirror reflection was _ludicrous_. He was _marked_. Covered in bruises and bites. Stamped over his neck. Down his chest, around his nipples. He ran a hand over a nub, the pink mound hardening into a pebble as some sore pleasure whipped through him. Yes, he remembered Quinn sucking on these for a long, long time – _Fuck_ –

He turned around, examining himself. His back was marked up too, down to the round globes of his ass –

Gods, what had gotten into him? Gotten into Quinn?

These marks – these excessive, pervasive love bites – this could easily be seen as _anthalva_ …

_Fuck_.

The memories continued to pour back.

Carol’s anthalva. Those gorgeous bracelets. The _amma_.

He rushed himself into the shower, trying make sense of his thoughts.

Trying to make himself look somewhat less _fucked out_.

* * *

Eventually, he managed to get himself clean. Clothed. Dressed in some soft, faded lounge sweats he’d brought from his house.

He should venture back out into the apartment. Find Quinn. Actually talk instead of fucking like rabbits.

Where was his phone?

He thought he’d must have left it out in the living room, but he realized it was on the bedside table, next to a full glass of water. Had Quinn brought those in later? That was sweet…

He picked up the mobile and took up a drink of water, scrolling into his messages.

He had a bunch of unread texts.

From Lydia, Marty, even _Guillaume_ …

All saying the same thing.

_“Have you seen this?”_

They’d sent him an article from the Crimion Times, their main national newspaper.

The headline read –

Well, _fuck…_

Miguel de los Santos Acquires Mort Company Lemon.

_Fuck_.

This… this was actually happening.

This… Quinn had been right. This was _real_.

But what – what did this mean?

What fresh hell would this bring?

And why did he feel –

Why did he feel like it was already _too late_?

Way too late to stop whatever this was…

Dazed, bewildered, he left the bedroom and walked out into the living room.

The scene in front of him made him stop still.

Oh…well then…

He’d found Quinn. And _Carol_.

They were both sprawled out on the sofa. Quinn was lying on his back, fast asleep, his breathing steady and rhythmic. Curled on top of him was Carol. Her head nestled into his chest, pillowed by Quinn’s ratty CIT sweatshirt.

They looked so peaceful… _comfortable_.

Some sharp feeling twisted through Jasper. What was this ridiculous notion? Jealously? Or worse – _longing_?

Fuck that. He wasn’t some sad, pining child.

He turned to leave, to retreat back into the bedroom, when he noticed eyes on him. Bright, piercing eyes.

Carol was awake, staring at him.

And with a _well-practiced_ dexterity, she extracted herself from between Quinn’s legs. Stepped onto the faux fur rug, silent. Quinn made some murmured noise, but just rolled onto his side, towards the seatback. Still asleep.

She padded over to Jasper, like a panther, prowling.

“Good morning, Jasper Montesquieu,” she whispered. She was decked in CIT sweats too, frayed, hole-ridden fabric. Her hair was gloriously bed-mussed (or rather _Quinn-mussed)._ But her eyes were ever-bright. _Curious_. She looked down, noticing the way he was holding his phone.

“What do you have here?” She asked, already reaching for it.

Off-guard, Jasper automatically raised the mobile, showing her the screen. The news article about Miguel.

Some sharp, scheming smile spread over her face.

“Oh,” she said, voice lush and low, but humming with _energy_ , “So it _worked_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a fun casual dinner with friends :) Jasper meets Carol, learns some interesting things about Quinn that require many follow-up questions, none of which were asked...and weird jewelry and smut... And then something with Miguel... 
> 
> Speaking of, next chapter is from Miguel's perspective <3
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Feedback is loved and appreciated.


	16. Lay All Your Love on Me (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I had a plan. The plan died. This happened instead. I'm still in the process of writing/drafting. But what will most likely happen is Miguel's interlude will be split over two parts. And this is the first. 
> 
> Warning/Disclaimer: This chapter contains a lot of highly gratuitous smut. There are some kinks in this one. (Though to be fair, there's kink in this entire thing... but it's a lot more explicit here). Essentially, it all fits under the umbrella of BDSM play & power play. I've updated some of the story tags, but probably haven't tagged for everything. If you think I should tag something specifically, please let me know. 
> 
> I do want to say that this is a consensual, established relationship. However, it is a relationship based on power exchange, in the context of a dark fantasy world. By real life morals and standards, there are dubious things here. Even in the context of this world, there are dubious things here. So enjoy the dubious morality for what it's worth.

“I feel a kind of fear  
when I don’t have you near.  
Unsatisfied, I skip my pride,  
I beg you dear –

Don't go wasting your emotion –  
Lay all your love on me.  
Don't go sharing your devotion –  
Lay all your love on me.”

-ABBA, “Lay All Your Love on Me”

_Miguel – Yet Another Interlude, Part One_

The clock read 10am.

Miguel twisted away from the illuminated digits, laughing a little, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

Fuck – it was late.

It didn’t matter though. There had been no way he had been waking up any earlier than this. In fact, it was extremely tempting to just close his eyes now. Go back to sleep…

Though there was something much more tempting than sleep available…

To his side, Tony stirred.

Miguel rolled over, looking at his suqua. His suqua who had also been utterly exhausted last night. Completely expected though … and almost entirely Miguel’s fault…

They had all spent the last two days in _ammaihqua_. 

Much needed release from the _tension_ of the past week. When Miguel had been forced to spend days on end at the Palace, away and apart from his. While Khari had thrown an extensive (and painful) temper tantrum.

But that was done now.

It had _worked_. After thorough, exhaustive negotiation.

The Chancellor had granted _permission_ to Miguel. Permission for him publicly run his latest acquisition, Lemon.

Or, rather – what condescending phrase had Khari actually used? – Permission to _fuck around like some primadonna prat._

Yes, Khari thought this whole endeavor a fantastically expensive and exhibitionistic waste of time. Which was just _perfect_.

Sweet, delicious perfection.

Yet, despite his disdain, the Chancellor had still demanded ample compensation. Compensation for his generosity to _allow_ Miguel to pursue these ambitions.

And Khari, of course, refused any _currency_ for such payment. He had never allowed it from Miguel. Had never accepted _a dollar_ from Miguel, nor any of Miguel’s typical tributes and tokens.

No, Khari demanded compensation of _substance,_ which most Mytarri had no ingenuity or creativity to devise.

But Miguel could be very, very _creative_.

And so for these negotiations, he had schemed up one of his more _enticing_ offers.

There had been moments, of course … Moments over the span of this long, tortuous week (or really _weeks_ , since this whole affair had begun at the General Assembly) where Khari had pushed back on Miguel _hard_. Hard enough to _threaten_ the true of intent of Miguel’s designs… Hard enough to threaten _Miguel_ …

But, somehow, whether by skill, or luck, or the grace of deities he didn’t worship, Miguel had managed to slither out of the Chancellor’s death grip. Had managed to slip away from the real inherent danger and tempt Khari with a lovely, _distracting_ deal. 

And to his absolute and utter delight, Khari had _accepted_ it.

Now, Miguel finally had the _freedom_ to move in this design as he’d like. Well… freedom was clearly too strong a word. _Space_ was a lot more honest. Yes, Miguel had space to operate without fear that the hammer of the Chancellor’s authority and influence would come crashing down on him… shattering this design before it could even get _started_.

He had the _space_.

Or… if he was being really, _really_ honest with himself… he had the _time_.

Yes, wasn’t that the actual reality of it? He had ultimately bought himself _time_.

Because, despite his deep yearning for things to be otherwise, there was a truth he couldn’t ignore.

Alexander Kharvortski might be many, many things.

But the one thing he _wasn’t_ , of course, was an idiot.

Yes, no one became the Chancellor of Crimimiss except the most cunning and manipulative and ruthless of demons.

Which is why Miguel had needed to get _creative_. Very, very creative.

And now – well, now he needed to focus on the _now_.

Celebrate the _now_.

He’d fought hard for this victory. For this _time_.

He intended to _enjoy_ it.

And so far, he’d done just that. 

As soon as Khari had dismissed him from the Palace, he had raced back to his Estate. To his suqua.

And knowing all the work and travel required of him in the upcoming weeks, he’d immediately initiated ammaihqua. And allowed himself a couple days in that sublime pleasure.

But all too soon, it had been time to wrap up. The news had broke about Lemon. It was time to get to work.

So he’d released the _pull_ last night. Let his amma quiet and relax – like waves calming after a storm.

And now, this morning, stretching out underneath the soft, warm covers, he was beginning to feel more _together_. More _settled_.

Typically though, the day after finishing ammaihqua, he’d still take time. Rest. Recuperate. Make sure his suqua were all comfortable, all good.

But unfortunately, there wouldn’t be much time for that today…

No… He twisted over. Glanced back at the clock…Oh fuck, they really did need to move.

He rolled around again. Hooked an ankle over his suqua’s leg. Drawing him close.

“Tony,” he murmured. He propped himself up on an elbow. Bent over and kissed his forehead, the skin so lush and sleep-warm.

“Tony,” he said again, “We have to get up.”

Tony’s eyelids twitched. His brow furrowed. His peaceful, placid expression shifting into confusion.

“Mmm,” he muttered, half-asleep. And he tried to twist away from the noise, the motion. But Miguel wasn’t having it.

He kept his leg locked over Tony’s. His arm slinked around the man’s waist, down to the round globes of his ass. Perfect, perky flesh, supple under his hand. He squeezed and pulled him closer, their nude bodies flush together. Miguel felt Tony’s cock, half-hard, press snug against his.

Gods, he felt _good_. His amma, tired and sore in his brands, in his nerves, still thrummed. Still wanted. _Always_ wanted. No matter how many times he’d indulged in this sweet pleasure over the past couple days.

He kissed Tony’s face, his mouth, so soft and pliant.

“Tony,” he coaxed, nipping and teasing the lips, surely still sore and sensitive from last night’s activities…

The memories trickled back in. Tony, so ridiculously cute and disoriented after Miguel had cut the pull, had stumbled into bed with him. Strung out on the lingering sensation, he’d spread himself out under Miguel, wanton and guileless in his desperation to just keep _feeling_. To just keep holding on to the gorgeous, consuming feeling as long as possible.

And Miguel had indulged him, of course. Ravaged him. Fucked him … how many times? Did it matter?

He just wanted it again. Tony, undone, underneath him. _His_.

He realized he’d rolled on top of him. His suqua’s legs had parted instinctively, wrapped around him, drawing him down, bringing that hard sex against his. Miguel rocked into him, the pleasure shivering through his skin, in his veins … that steady tempo of his amma still humming in the background.

He mouthed over Tony’s jaw, licked the skin, that salty, familiar taste, its caramel tone growing more and more flushed … And Miguel bit down.

Firm, clear pressure right over Tony’s pulse point.

He felt his suqua start underneath him. His arms reached around him, wrapping over Miguel’s back.

“Miga,” he heard Tony breathe out. He applied more pressure, sucking firmly into the skin. Bruising it.

“Miga,” Tony repeated, louder this time.

Miguel broke away from his neck, dabbing the marked spot with soft pecks.

“Yes, pet?” he said. He pulled back a bit so he could properly look down at his suqua. Those dark, brilliant eyes, still a little dreamy, a little glazed. The wild, curly black hair all mussed and manic. But he was smiling. The corner of his mouth curled up.

“What time is it?” he asked, voice rough and hoarse.

His ever practical babe…

Still though… The time was for Miguel to worry about. Not Tony.

He slipped a hand between them. Grasped Tony’s cock. Tight, practiced motions. Tony shuddered against him, his legs wrapping over Miguel’s, trying to find purchase in the onslaught of pleasure, as Miguel stroked his over-worked sex.

But Tony was so good for him. Even as it was surely too much. Too much from the past two days drowned in decadent consumption, and then last night, and now this… But he just wrapped his arms tighter around his metiah’s neck, riding out as waves, letting Miguel do as he wanted, as he pushed him up towards another impossible peak.

Miguel rubbed the head of his cock incessantly, his thumb toying with the slit, drawing out that slick wetness, laving up the member with it, until the length was so heavy and smooth in his hand. Full, primed.

And Miguel stopped. His hand slipped off the swollen cock.

Reflectively, Tony arched forward. Tried to rut his dick against the planes of Miguel’s stomach.

Miguel pushed him back, down into the mattress.

And without warning, he slapped Tony across the face.

It wasn’t that hard – a gesture meant to startle, not hurt. And Tony did startle, his head jolting back against the pillow. His eyes were wide now, and very much awake. _Good._

“No,” Miguel said sharply, “None of that.”

He extracted himself from between Tony’s legs. Moved so he was sitting to the side, taking the sheets and duvet with him. Leaving Tony bare and exposed.

His suqua remained sprawled out like a feast – His gorgeous, trim muscles, his limbs lean and well-molded, his peaked, hard nipples, his cock jutting out, starting to drip onto his abs...

 _Fuck._ He really needed to slap himself as well, but he wasn’t going to put Tony through that nonsense.

“You need to take a shower,” Miguel said, forcing himself to stop staring at his suqua’s gorgeous body, “You need to take a shower now. And don’t even think about touching yourself.”

Tony’s bight brown eyes met his. The shock at the sudden roughness had receded, replaced by a clear, bright gaze.

“How late are – ?”

“ _Tony.”_

“Yes,” Tony smiled knowingly, already moving, slinking off the bed, “Yes, I’m going Miga.”

And with gleaming eyes, he hurried off into the bathroom.

It took every ounce of willpower that Miguel had not to follow him.

Oh, yes, this had clearly had been an absurd idea. Having ammaihqua right before his acquisition announcement. But it was either then, or they would have needed to wait until Miguel returned from off-world. And that notion had just seemed _impossible_ after Miguel had returned from the Palace.

So now, he had to deal with the consequences. A day they should have all spent lounging and resting and wringing out the last remnants of the lingering, pleasure-drunk lust … well, it would have to be a day of work instead.

Well, not for Benji and Mel. They still needed to recuperate.

But yes, a day of work for Miguel…

And for Tony… Though his veikala didn’t really know that yet. 

Still though… that didn’t mean there wasn’t _pleasure_ to be had.

Of course, there was pleasure. And then was _pleasure_. 

So he willed himself to ignore the pulse in his groin, the hardness in his cock. 

And he finally hoisted himself out of the massive bed. Peeled open the curtains. Let the late morning sunlight pour in.

It was a magnificent winter day in Eastern mountains. The sky a brilliant blue. The craggy peaks dappled with fresh snow.

Fuck, he loved it up here. His own private paradise where he could just _be_. Just be without the insatiable, greedy eyes of the world below. 

But no time to linger. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, and threw on a thick robe from the walk-in closet. 

And he strode out of his bedroom.

* * *

A few minutes later, he was camped out at the kitchenette counter, making himself some espresso.

While his hands went through the familiar motions, he let his awareness drift, stretch, _reach_ … seek out what was _his_. He felt the three distinct energies, three distinct rhythms …entwined and infused with his amma… _his own_ …

One was very near. Awake, vibrant, pulsing.

The other two were close, but the rhythms were lulled, languid, like soft, murmured hums. Good then. Benji and Mel were still fast asleep.

He finished prepping the espresso. Took a drink of the hot, bitter caffeine.

And for the first time in days, looked at his phone.

As expected, it was grotesque.

An obscene amount of missed calls and messages. A catastrophic level of emails. Fortunately, over the years, he had perfected a system for dealing with this.

Ninety-five percent of what came through could be filtered out and handled by a group of highly competent assistants that Will managed.

Of the remaining five percent, the vast majority of these items were things he had an active interest in dealing with. However, if push came to shove, he could just as easily have Will, or one of his suqua, handle them directly.

The other items though… the one percent … well, these were things Miguel _needed_ to handle personally.

Like these irate messages from Rion Shamin. The first one read: _“Call me the fuck back.”_ And they only descended into more bubbling fury from there.

He knocked back the rest of his espresso, imagining the hot liquid like a jab of adrenaline in his veins. Time to really wake up.

He put his headphones in. Grabbed a tablet from the counter and paced back to the bedroom. And called Rion.

The other man answered almost instantly.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he growled. 

“Ammaihqua,” Miguel said simply, trying to bite down a smile. He settled on a chaise lounge in his bedroom, propped his feet up, switching on the tablet. Might as well multi-task through Rion’s insane indignation. “Good morning to you too, by the way.”

“Are you fucking joking?” Rion snapped, “You had ammaihqua while this news broke?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because that is _insane_. Miga – what the fuck are you doing?”

“Ah, well, at the moment, I’m getting some documents together for the American State Department. It’s – ”

“Have you lost your knacky mind, you little twat. What in the absolute fuck have you dragged my sons and my daughter into?”

Miguel forced himself to breathe. He sat up straighter in his seat. Put the glass tablet down before he broke the screen.

“Rion,” he said, trying to speak as calmly as he could, “I’ve _dragged_ your children into nothing. They’re very excited about this new endeavor. As they should be. As _you_ should be.”

Silence for a blessed moment.

But then Rion spoke.

Seething, righteous indignation. 

“You’ve actually lost your fucking mind. Whatever the fuck you think you’re doing, it’s not _worth_ it, Miga. How can it be worth it? This spectacle, this scrutiny … And gods only know what you gave to Khari for him to go along with this insanity… Though I’m sure it probably didn’t matter though. I’m sure he was positively _thrilled_.”

“Thrilled?” Miguel repeated. He realized he had gotten up. Had started pacing serpentine throughout the room, “You think he was _thrilled?_ Why the fuck would the Chancellor be _thrilled_ that one of his flock has gone out to play in his bright, shiny new world order?”

“Because now it’s not just him,” Rion said, words so succinct and slicing, “Now it’s just not him on that vast open public stage. Now there’s this brash, ambitious upstart. Perfectly set up to be his _cautionary tale._ His _scapegoat_. Someone to take the blame when everything starts to crumble. If the world hasn’t already crashed down on you. ”

Miguel had to laugh. Some dark, hollow sound that floated in the empty space in front of him. Such typical Rion. Obsessed with guessing Khari’s schemes for the next decade, that he didn’t see what was happening _now_.

No… Miguel had no time for this kind of _useless_ conjecturing. 

Without any conscious thought, he realized he’d walked out of the bedroom, onto the balcony.

It was freezing. He was only wearing a robe. The wood-plank floor felt like ice under his bare feet.

“Well, I’d like to see him try,” Miguel said. He gripped the balcony railing, looking at the alpine vista around him. “I’d like to see Khari fucking try. But thank gods that I have you, Rion. To warn me of such impeding catastrophe. What the fuck would I ever do without you.”

“I’m trying to help you,” Rion said, tone strained, rough, “This is a _mistake_.”

“No Rion,” Miguel snapped, “A mistake is to do nothing. A mistake is putting your head in the sand, every time you hear something that challenges or unsettles you. A mistake is expecting – ” Oh, what he so wanted to say, was ‘ _a mistake is expecting your brother to make the right decisions’_ , but he wasn’t angry enough to go there. Not now. So, instead, “— expecting others to solve your problems for you.”

He paused. Took a moment to exhale. His breath this white cloud in the stark outside temperature.

“But if you really think this is a mistake,” he continued, “then, by all means, stop me.”

But Rion knew Miguel far too well to be baited like that.

Silence for another couple moments. Then…

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the other metiah said at last. And this was a different tone. Gone was the infuriated indignation. Replaced now with stinging disbelief. “Why didn’t tell me about this design? And why aren’t you telling me _now_?”

Oh, yes… _why_ …

Why hadn’t he told Rion?

Why hadn’t he told _anyone_?

Why wasn’t he _telling_ anyone now…

“This is so _reckless_ , Miga,” Rion continued, “Immense risk of harm here. My children – ”

“ _My_ suqua,” Miguel snapped, brought back to the moment, “are not in danger here. I cannot and I will not allow it. I have the situation under control. But thank you as always for your constructive feedback.”

He looked back through the window into his bedroom. Saw that Tony had emerged from his shower.

“Miga,” Rion was still saying, “This isn’t _right_. Whatever you’re trying – ”

“That’s the thing, Rion. I’m not _trying_ to do anything. I’m _doing_ something. And whenever you want get on board with that, you just let me know.”

And Miguel hung up.

He walked back inside, back into the warmth.

Tony had gone into the adjacent walk-in closet, a towel wrapped around his waist, rummaging through some suits draped over hangers.

But Miguel had no intention of letting him put those clothes on.

No…his mind raced through all the options … thinking about what he needed for the day ahead. What his _suqua_ needed to do.

But what would be the _best_ way?

The best way to ensure he got exactly what he wanted, what he _needed_ … With as minimal protest from his suqua as possible…

So many, many tempting choices…

But of course, Miguel already knew what he was going to do…

“Excuse me,” he said sharply, propping himself against the closet entrance, “Who said you could get dressed?”

Tony turned towards his metiah. An eyebrow raised, but his hand fell away from the jacket he’d been inspecting. The corner of his lips curled up.

“You want me to go to Eastern naked then?”

Miguel smiled wide. Shook his head.

Eastern was his holding company. An inherited corporate entity from his late great uncle. It was now the overseeing organization for Miguel’s entire portfolio of companies and investments. And while the organization was very much _his_ , he employed wide of range _colorful_ characters there, for a variety of reasons. And he had a couple _interesting_ metiah on his Board of Directors as well, as minority shareholders. 

“No, fuck that. The crew down there doesn’t deserve that view.”

Though… if he was being _honest_ … the exhibitionist in him couldn’t dismiss the thrill of that thought. All the greedy eyes on Tony… his Tony, who would walk into a company office naked, if Miguel really wanted him to… who would fundamentally do _anything_ Miguel wanted…

He realized he’d walked to his suqua, closing the space between them.

“Miga,” Tony said, as Miguel’s hands went to his towel, unwrapping the fabric from his waist, “I thought we were late.”

“We are,” Miguel agreed, “Extremely.”

He shucked the towel off, letting his eyes rove over Tony’s bare form. The smooth, defined muscles of his core, the fine jut of his hipbones, the left side scarred with Miguel’s mark – his most primal, uninhibited anthalva…

He looked up, catching Tony’s eyes. Bright, deep orbs, the pupils expanding the longer Miguel stared at him.

“Miga,” Tony said. And that tone…that sweet, breathy _plea_ in the syllables of his name … Miguel could hardly stand it. The need to lay claim to this gorgeous soul – it whipped through him like lightning. No, he wasn’t going to make Tony go out into the world naked. But he damned well wasn’t going to let him out looking _free_.

He surged on him then.

Latched onto his mouth, his lips. Demanding, consuming force. Tony didn’t resist. He let Miguel invade him, his tongue rubbing against his, sucking and coaxing his metiah deeper inside.

Miguel began walking them backwards.

With firm motions, he pushed Tony down onto the sofa seat. And without giving his suqua anytime to orientate himself, he dropped to his knees between Tony’s legs. And swallowed his sweet little cock.

The _noise_ Tony made. This keen of delight, of _relief_. As if to say – _finally_.

Though surely it had only been hours since Miguel had done this… He loved to go down on his. Loved to suck and tease and consume until they were entirely unraveled, desperate for release and incoherent with need.

It was… addictive. The power over another’s pleasure. Simply addictive.

And he’d trained Tony well over the years. Trained him to just submit to the sensation.

His suqua wouldn’t try to thrust into Miguel’s mouth. He wouldn’t try to control the pace of Miguel’s motions or work.

No, he just parted his legs further, giving his metiah room to play as he wanted. To suck down his sex, to toy with his balls, to tease around his hole. Miguel curled a finger into him, finding him blissfully tight (an exceptional byproduct of Mytarri recovery ability), but also _dry_ … Tony had clearly cleaned himself of the lube and cum from last night.

And for a moment, the need to dirty him up again overwhelmed. This basic, primitive instinct to just fuck him, fill him with his seed… maybe plug him so he could feel it inside of him all day…

But no, no… Miguel forced the carnal fantasy away. This wasn’t the time for that. He had other plans…

He took Tony deeper then. Down into his throat. Squeezing around the length in a mimicry of a gag. Tony’s cock really wasn’t little in any sense. It was just a couple inches shorter than Miguel’s and a bit thicker actually. It felt good in his mouth. Heavy and warm and soft.

He looked up, and found Tony watching him intently. His pupils blown out. His lips pressed into a tight line. His stomach muscles tense.

He was close. Almost at the edge.

Miguel slipped off his cock. Removed the finger from his hole. Tony swayed a little from the abrupt loss of stimulation.

“You feeling good, pet?” Miguel asked, staring up at his sweet babe, giving him one of his sunniest, sly smiles.

“Yeah,” Tony smiled faintly in return, “Really good, Miga.”

“You think I should let you come?” Miguel asked, trying to get a handle on his growing grin.

Tony’s brow arched up. His lips crooked to one side, eyes sparkling.

“Are you giving me a choice?”

“Of course not,” Miguel purred back, “You’re going to do exactly what I want.”

Tony let out a short, breathy laugh. He bit his lip, worrying the plump flesh between his teeth. Sometimes he was just too fucking enticing for his own good… Miguel wanted to _devour_ him. Take him apart piece by piece …

“And what,” his suqua said, “do you want exactly?”

Miguel just grinned. He ran a single finger along the vein on Tony’s cock. Light, feather touch. Watching his suqua carefully, as he inhaled, the tendons in his throat taut, his shoulders squared, like he was bracing for something. His smart boy.

He bent forward then.

Kissed the marks on his left hip – the small, jagged indents that formed an “M”. Scars made decades ago now, but the memory of that night still sparked hot inside him. But it wasn’t the time for memories…no, not when the present was so _delicious_.

He gripped Tony hard again. His hand speeding along his cock in sure, rapid strokes.

His suqua’s breath hitched. Sharp suction of air.

Miguel broke away from mouthing at his groin. Looked up into those dark eyes that were glazing over in pleasure.

“Miga,” Tony breathed out, “Miga, I’m – ”

“You’re not. You’re not going to come. Tell me when you’re _there_.”

He jacked him harder.

His suqua shot back against the sofa, like he was trying to get away from the pleasure. But he couldn’t get far. Miguel had a firm hand on his hip, the other on his cock. Relentless in his strokes, smearing the slick from the leaking head over the hot length.

“Please,” Tony said, “Please, it’s too – ”

“It’s not,” Miguel insisted. He twisted his hand, massaging the organ in a way he knew would drive him _insane_ , “Keep going.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony hissed out. His hand clawed onto the sofa arm, fingers digging into the fabric, “Miga, please – Miga, I’m – Can’t – Miga – Please – I’m just – _THERE.”_

Miguel released his hold.

Tony was panting wildly. His abs contracted with tension. His cock, long and leaking and rigid, was flushed red, engorged.

Right on the edge.

 _Perfect_.

In a flash, Miguel was on his feet. He raced over to one of the many dressers in the closest. Opened the drawer. Found the box.

He dashed over to Tony, who was pressed back against the sofa, trying to get control of himself. His eyes widened when he saw what Miguel had in his hands.

“Miga, please,” he said, “I can’t – ”

“Yes, you can,” Miguel grinned, “And yes, you will. And you’re going to love it. And even if you don’t, well, I’m going to love it. And isn’t that what matters here?”

He went to his knees in front of Tony again. Opened up the sleek jewelry box, revealing the platinum ring, resting pretty on a velvet bed.

He watched Tony visibly gulp. He had started to sweat. But his face was flushed. His pupils still blown out. And cock, so hard and desperate, seemed to twitch in the open air.

“Now,” Miguel said, sure his grin looked absolutely insane at that point, “As far as I’m concerned we have two options. First one – You are my good, sweet pet and you let me put this on you without any fuss. Or second – You try to give me some bullshit about what you can and can’t do. And then I break all that nonsense, and _you_ , down, in a very, very thorough way. And then I still put this on you. And I leave it on for a lot longer than I’m intending.”

“And how long are you intending for me to wear that?” Tony asked. His tone was still strained, his breathing still erratic, but a trace of a smile had crept back on his lips.

“Now wouldn’t you like to know,” Miguel said, raising his eyebrows, “So what will it be? One or two?”

But when the silence lingered a couple seconds too long, Miguel added, softer, “Or, of course, there’s three. If you need to.”

He didn’t have to elaborate on option three. That was always an option. If Tony needed to _stop_ , they would stop. And grand plans be damned, he and Tony would just curl up back in bed… which maybe they shouldn’t have left in the first place…

But Tony was already shaking his head. And exhaling slightly, he unclenched his death grip from the sofa arm. Straightened himself up.

“One,” he said.

That was his babe.

“So good pet,” Miguel said, his grin expanding again into something obscene, “Now, tell me what I want to hear.”

He took the ring out of the box. Rubbed it between his hands, warming it up, _feeling_ it… That familiar pulse that was first nature to him – it emanated from the metal, perfectly matched to the ever-present sensation in his brands. _His amma_.

“Please Miga,” his suqua said, the words rushed and clipped as he forced himself to speak, “Please put the ring on my cock.”

“ _Your_ cock?” Miguel’s hands twisted over the ring, such a finely made band. He could _feel_ it, connected to him… And he forced his _intention_ into it…Into his amma. The metal expanded under his touch, _stretched_. “It’s your cock now?”

“No,” Tony swallowed, as Miguel’s hands neared his sex, “No, it’s yours. All yours.”

“Yes, it is,” Miguel said, eyes locked in the gorgeous sight in front of him, “Yes, _you_ are. _Mine_.”

And he slipped the ring over his suqua’s cock.

Tony snarled.

An involuntary jerk back into the sofa as the metal came in contact with his skin. But Miguel grabbed his hip with his other hand. Kept him in place as he slid the ring down the length to the base. Always happy he made his suqua laser off their pubic hair, so he had an unencumbered view for these kind of decorations.

This cock ring was one he’d made specially for Tony.

It was pristine platinum embedded with his amma. As such, Miguel could control it. Manipulate the metal as he liked.

Really, it was just intensely self-indulgent anthalva.

He only played with it on rare occasions.

But today… today he thought it was warranted. _Earned_.

He twisted the ring. Slow, sensual motion.

Concentrating on it.

Wanting it _tighter_.

Devastatingly tight.

Tony was shaking now. From tension and anticipation and that increasingly _sharp_ sensation.

Miguel looked up at him. His suqua had bit his lips again. His hands gripped his thighs, clutching himself. Clearly fighting the urge to try to grab his cock, to try to stop this, to try to control this sensation. But he wouldn’t. No, he would be good for Miguel. He would submit to him. Let him do what he wanted, even though it _hurt_.

And fuck, if that thought didn’t make him _burn_. His own cock throbbed, hard as rock, under his robe. And for a second, he thought he had lost the battle of will within himself. Thought he would just push Tony into the sofa, and fuck him until his eyes rolled back in his head… But no. No, no, no. He had to focus a little. There were things to be done today. Places to go. Time was _limited_.

So he released his hand off his suqua’s cock. 

The intention was set now.

It would work as he wanted.

“Breathe, Tony,” he said, coming off his knees, sitting beside him on the sofa, “Look at me. Just breathe.”

He grabbed Tony’s hand. Interlaced their fingers. Extremely intimate move. Stimulating the sensitive skin right above their brands. But his sweet suqua needed something else to focus on. Something to help ease the _pressure_.

Miguel’s amma pulsed demandingly in his hand, as he gripped onto his suqua’s. He could feel the answering call of his suqua’s brand. It felt good, always so good, but _sore_ – too sore to play with. Yes, this soon after ammaihqua, he had to be careful. He knew he was quickly nearing the limit for his suqua.

“You’re doing so good,” Miguel said. He stared into the other man’s soulful black eyes. They were almost entirely pupil now, glazed over and swirling with half-thoughts, as his mind was no doubt trying to process all these sensations. The pleasure, the _pain_. “Just breathe. In and out. Yes, that’s it. Just nice, nice slow breaths. So good, Tony. Look – just look at that little cock going down. That’s a lot better. Right, pet? Now you don’t have to worry about coming. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just it let go and breathe.”

Tony let out a strangled noise, something between a sob and moan. Miguel squeezed his hand harder. His other hand went to his suqua’s thigh, petting the muscled leg in soothing strokes. But he kept his hand far away from his suqua’s cock…

His cock which had taken on a deep, dark red tone.

The ring at the base of his sex was so _tight_ now. Squeezing relentlessly. Immense pressure applied to _constrict_ , to soften the length back to a small, limp state.

It was agonizing. To be forced from the verge of orgasm back to a flaccid condition.

But it was also _maddening_. Because under the pain, even now when the ring had its harshest, most constrictive intent, there was still _pleasure_. Undeniable pleasure from the amma, _Miguel’s_ amma, working around his suqua’s most receptive nerves.

Yes, Tony was being forced down from precipice, forced into this vice grip, but still desperate, still aching for relief.

It was so cruel… so intoxicating. Just everything really.

And most importantly, most significantly, Tony would feel _him_. Miguel’s presence, his signature, wrapped as snug and secure as possible around his most sensitive self.

“Miga,” his suqua managed, shuddering as the ring pressed harder still, “ _Please_.”

“What, pet?” he crooned, pressing closer against him, “What do you want? You want it _tighter_?”

“No – _please_. ”

“I know, pet,” Miguel whispered. He leaned over to Tony. Kissed his face, wiped away the wetness under his eyes. “I know it _hurts_. It’s supposed to. It’s supposed to hurt. Sometimes it’s good to hurt, you know? Sometimes it’s so good, so _sweet_.”

He kissed his lips, tasted that slick, salty essence of Tony. Of his.

“You’re almost there,” Miguel continued in his lushest purr, “Almost there. Look how soft you are. So small, so _good_ for me. You’re going to stay like that all day. Just like that, just _feeling_. And knowing in your marrow, in your nerves that you are _mine_. All mine. Mine to use, mine to hurt, mine to love exactly how I want. Isn’t that right, pet? You’re mine?”

“Yes, Miga,” Tony’s voice was barely audible, his lips brushing against his, “I’m yours. _Always_ yours.”

And fuck, Miguel couldn’t stand it anymore.

Tony’s sweet words, the tears in the corners of his glassy eyes, his little twitches and shakes as he settled against the force of Miguel’s _control_ …

He shifted them.

Pulled his suqua into his arms, into his lap, close and tight against him.

And just held him. _His_.

* * *

Eventually, the immense pressure around Tony’s cock subsided. His length soft and small and flushed red. The platinum ring glinted at the base, the head slick from precum.

Of course, no real damage to his suqua’s sex.

The force behind this was Miguel’s amma. And his amma would never _harm_ his suqua, his own.

No, it was all just play for his and Tony’s game. Manipulation of the nerves more than anything. Any real physical malady would be soothed, healed by exposure to the amma … When Miguel took the ring off there wouldn’t even be a mark, let alone a bruise…

But until then, his suqua would _feel_. Continually aroused by the amma in the ring, but unable to get hard. And definitely unable to come…

But his Tony was more than capable. He could handle this and then some. And he would handle it, all for him.

He shifted his suqua on his lap.

Kissed his face. Bit at his lips.

“How you feeling, pet?” he asked, watching his pupils contract, “Can you stand up?”

“Mmm… yeah. Yeah, I can. But fuck, Miga, it’s _sore_.”

“I know. But you’ll get through it. And maybe, if you’re _really_ good for me, maybe when we get to New York I’ll give you a massage.”

Tony arched a brow, a smile sliding onto his face.

“A massage?”

Miguel nodded, his hands rubbing over Tony’s legs, his hips, in teasing, enticing strokes.

He didn’t claim to have a lot of _practical_ skills in life – but one thing he was very, very good at were massages. Real, deep tissue therapy learned from his time as a dancer. He been something of the self-appointed sports therapist for his company, and he had learned how to reduce people to the most relaxed, supple state in a matter of moments. Now it was a pleasure he really only permitted to his – and something he saved for special occasions.

Tony, of course, realized that. Realized the implication.

“Well then,” his suqua said, smiling wider, “What does being ‘ _really good’_ for you entail today?”

“Hmm… quite simple actually. Just a few basic guidelines. Standard operating procedures mainly.”

“Oh really?” Tony shifted back a bit, leaned against the seatback so he could have a better vantage of his metiah, “Such as?”

“Well… naturally, you don’t touch your dick at all today. And definitely not the ring. You just let it work, just let it keep that little cock nice and soft while you’re _aching_ to come. You just feel, and keep your hands away. And away from your hole too, you absolute slut. You know that’s mine.”

Tony grinned at him, but the lust flashed in his eyes. Clearly as turned on by the thought of it as Miguel.

And Miguel watched him greedily as he flinched then. The ring had tightened, preventing his cock from hardening at all.

“Fuck… Okay, that…. sounds … _doable_ ,” Tony breathed out, “What else then?”

Ah, yes…

What _else_.

The crux of it.

What else could he possibly ask of his Tony? Who he had just coaxed into the most exquisite, possessive anthalva, for no reason at all, except for some minor, trivial matters…

Yes… he was hardly playing fair here. But what else was new…

“Well…” Miguel dragged the word out. Flashed one of his sunniest, careless smiles, “I want you to go to Eastern. Without me. And I want you to give the presentation to the Board there. And then I want to talk to the press. Give a statement. Answer some of the less obnoxious questions. And then I want you back here. Ready to get on the plane by eight.”

Silence for a moment.

Tony just stared at his metiah. Stared at his best friend of thirty-plus years.

“Are you fucking serious?” he said at last, “You want me to present Lemon to the Board? You want me to give a statement to press? Today? Now?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“What? _What?_ Are you – What? How … Do you … Do you have anything prepared for this?

“I have absolutely nothing.”

“Miga!” Tony pushed back further, staring him down with intense, piercing eyes, “Well, I have _nothing_. What the fuck do you expect me to say to them?”

“Literally anything you want,” Miguel said, inching closer to him, smiling wide, “I guarantee whatever you say will be a thousand times more compelling than anything that comes from me. They all _love_ you. You will be great. This will be great.”

“Miga,” Tony hissed, “They will have _questions_. Real questions.”

“You know exactly what to say,” Miguel insisted. He reached forward, grabbed around Tony’s shoulders, forcing him to look straight at him, “You know exactly what _can_ be said. Don’t overthink this. You know what to do.”

“For fuck’s sake….” Tony hissed, trying to slip out of Miguel’s hold, “ You’re so unbelievably impossible. You know that, right?”

“Yes. Of course I am.” His smile shifted. His lips curled up in dark, scheming coil, “But you’re going to do this for me anyways. All of it. You’re not going to fight me on this.”

Tony stopped trying to get out of Miguel’s hold. He looked his metiah straight in the eyes. _Understanding_ cracking through the pleasure glaze.

“I could, you know,” his suqua said, voice soft but _clear_ , “So soon after ammaihqua – you wouldn’t _pull_. I know you wouldn’t.”

“Of course not,” Miguel said, smiling deeper, “Good thing that doesn’t matter though. Because you’re going to do exactly what I want. And you know why, pet?”

He leaned closer to Tony. His fingers lightly – ever so lightly – traced along the ring on his cock. Tony jerked at the contact, and Miguel moved near, his lips right by his ear.

“You know why you won’t fight me on this? Because you _love_ it. Because you _want_ it. Because nothing feels as right and as good as giving it up. As submitting. Submitting to the one who owns you. To the one you _belong to_ , and who _belongs_ to you.”

An infinitesimal increase of pressure on the ring. A kiss under Tony’s eyes.

He felt his suqua shiver.

He knew he _had_ him. Knew that Tony had no chance against him in this state. Had _never_ had any chance, overdosed on the pleasure and the amma. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t playing fair. Tony was his, and he loved him dearly. That was all there was.

“You’re mine,” Miguel said, voice so lush and low and consuming, “And you’re going to give me everything. Yes, Tony?”

“…Yes,” he answered. Simple, beautiful word. “Yes, of course.”

And Miguel closed the space between. Kissed him. Hard and possessive. 

“Good,” Miguel purred, pulling back, “Now come on. We have to get you dressed. You’re already very late.”

“Oh my gods… “ Tony sighed. He blinked, batting away pleasure fog, “Alright then, here we go. But what exactly are you doing then? If you’re not coming to Eastern? Are you going back to bed then? Staying here with Benji and Mel?”

There was a bit of _hurt_ in that tone. Real hurt. And that Miguel couldn’t allow.

“No,” Miguel said. His hands looped around Tony’s neck, forcing the man to face him, “No, I’m not staying here. I have some… I have some other things to do. Before we leave tonight. But you know that if I could be in two places at once, I would.”

Tony exhaled. Nodded.

“Fine then,” his suqua said. He looked straight at Miguel. Such bright, _intelligent_ eyes. “I understand. But…after all this, you do owe me a massage. I’m very _sore_.”

And Miguel just smiled back. Smirked really.

“We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Miguel and Tony have a nice, relaxing morning. Miguel does really zero work, despite a lot of internal complaining about having work to do. And then he ultimately passes the real work to Tony... 
> 
> Anyways, it's a lot of smut. Very indulgent, gratuitous smut. (Maybe too much? Probably... ) But I hope under the porn you get more of insight into Miguel, and his perspective on his relationship with his suqua... 
> 
> The conversation with Rion is probably weird now. That will get explained a lot more in depth at some point in this story arc, but I wanted to try to gradually introduce his & Miguel's relationship. The anthalva cock ring ... I have no excuse ... take it for what you will. The non-descriptions and references to ammaihqua ... one day I will explain it properly, but today is not that day. (And spoiler alert, neither is tomorrow...But eventually, yes...) 
> 
> Anyways, I re-wrote and edited this chapter a lot. There's many things here I'm unsure about, and I'm very curious about what you all think. I really love & appreciate all the feedback about this crazy fantasy world. You all are definitely motivating me to finish this 💙Thank you so much for reading!


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